Strings
by sleepyheadfan20
Summary: Abbie Mills and Ichabod Crane fall in love in New York during a time of segregation and racial injustice and inequality. They struggle, but they endure.
1. Prologue

Abbie baked cinnamon buns on a somewhat rusty cookie sheet, panned applewood bacon in a cast iron skillet, and whipped peppered eggs in a cracked bowl. Even with creaky knees, with wrinkly hands, and with curly, gray hair she tied at the back of her neck, she made certain her and her husband, Crane, split bread. It's been their routine since they wore their prime and snuck as lovers in an abandoned school room before they decided to marry.

They were free in 2017 and the years prior, yet she remembered when they weren't as open with their love. She webbed their fingers together in silence while resting in dusty and too-tight desks when they had visits in the schoolroom. He kissed her plump lips and listened to her hum and breathe. That schoolroom was their safe place.

Their lives were different today in small-town Sleepy Hollow and didn't include the small library they worked at. She wasn't the help anymore; he wasn't a history librarian. They were a retired and happy elderly couple.

Crane set the table while Abbie removed the buns from the oven. She placed them on a platter before she iced them. For some reason, Crane wouldn't stop staring at her.

"What?" She smirked.

"Nothing, other than the fact that I love you." He walked over to her with his can.

She kissed him and said, "I love you, too."

As they finished preparing breakfast, she let her mind drift to when they weren't as free to say that. She thought of times implanted in de jure and de facto segregation, "colored only" this and "whites only" that, lunch counter sit-ins and bus boycotts, brutal lynchings of black bodies, long marches for freedom, assassinations of inspiring leaders they never got to meet, but only heard of and saw through television news and newspapers, separated living residents and schools, blood on blood for what's right. They loved even while oppression of that era served as the backdrop. In the schoolroom, they were free. They hugged tightly, the kisses felt like feathers, the laughs widened the room, and their chatter was gentle. They were happy. There were no consequences.


	2. Line

Warning: This chapter has use of the n-word and very nasty behavior at the end.

* * *

There weren't many patrons at the library. Most of them, it seemed, decided to stay out of the -20 degree weather. It amazed Ichabod the library stayed open in the first place with such snow on the streets and on top of buildings and on thick coats and on wool scarves. However, there were a few who came in today, but only to quickly thaw their hands and legs before trudging out for their homes or the market for groceries. Winter was hell in New York. One could never be prepared enough. Aside from them, there were only a few patrons browsing about: an older white gentleman with silvery hair, a white lady with a fur coat, and two white teenagers. There was also another lady.

She was a black woman with curly hair, brown eyes, and full lips. A quite stunning woman, if Ichabod was honest with himself. She didn't have much height to her and appeared as though she were about a foot shorter than he. Her uniform, a gray dress she wore with stockings and loafers, was pressed.

He didn't know her name or even speak to her when he came in to work every morning. Small nods in passing was all they shared. There was often a cleaning task, James Fuller, the library director, had her completing. She dusted book shelves, wiped the wooden tables in the study area, sprayed windows, pushed up chairs, and returned forgotten books among other duties. He caught her vacuuming at closing.

Ichabod couldn't engage with her if he wanted to. On busy days, there were so many people who needed assisting and so many responsibilities to finish before his day ended that he hardly had time to even converse with his co-workers.

He wanted to introduce himself to her, yet he knew this kind of behavior was frowned up in the North. Just imagine if he were in the South. Heaven forbid. The countless atrocities upon African-Americans down there bothered him to no end. It was astounding to see such hatred for a race of people. How could one rest at night? It's not like it was much better up here though. Sleepy Hollow was but a tiny town, yet they still didn't break societal expectations.

A white person knew not to even consider interacting, let alone initiating friendship, with African-Americans. It wasn't the law, but it was custom, socially-accepted. There was an uncrossed, invisible line drawn that everyone knew about, one he can never step over.

Ichabod watched her polish a table with a tatty cloth. He was curious about her. What was her name, first and foremost? Where did she live? What activities did she partake in for fun? Who was this women, who cleaned and cleaned and cleaned? Was she married? Did she have children? Siblings? A mum and dad? He didn't even know where she ate lunch. Sadly, he knew she wouldn't be welcome in their break room. There were no other custodial workers here but her. He saw her alone and wished he could accompany her during her lunch period. But alas, that line.

She was pushing up a chair when she accidentally bumped into the silvery-haired man.

"Excuse me, sir," she said. "I'm sorry."

The man snatched her by the arm and with a loud and gruff voice, said, "Filthy nigger, watch where you're going." He spit in her face.

The teens and the coated woman glanced their way and back to what preoccupied them. They didn't help her. Ichabod wiggled his fingers. There were a lot of moments where he bit his tongue and stood stiff, but he wouldn't do that today. He was stepping over the line.


	3. Handkerchief

Warning: Mention of rape and lynchings.

* * *

"Unhand her," said the man who walked over.

He was tall. Taller than her. Blue eyes. Brown hair tied in a ponytail. A beard. She saw him here all the time, sitting behind the front desk or at a shelf. What was he doing? Abbie couldn't focus on the tall man right now because this old asshole still clutched her arm and his spit ran down her cheek.

"She needs to learn her lesson."

Abbie tried not to whimper as he squeezed her arm tighter. She attempted to tear away from him, but couldn't, so she pointed her knee in his groin. He yelped and released her.

"Leave at once. Do not return," the tall man said.

"You watch yourself, nigger," he yelled as he limped off in pain.

 _That'll teach him_ , Abbie thought. She massaged her bicep, which was sore and probably bruised. Jenny, her sister, would be worried. Their parents told them it was never safe for a black woman in a white world, particularly a white man's world. Black women were raped and beaten by gangs of white men. Some survived. Other women didn't survive at all. They were murdered, left in the woods or in alleys, bloodied and broken. Their voices choked out, their legs forced apart, and their arms pinned to their sides, struggling for help, struggling for their lives, struggling for stars and night air.

Black women were also lynched, found limp, hanged and roped from a tree branch, burned, probably tortured for hours until the crowds of white people squashed the very spirit of her. No, it was never safe for a black woman in a white world.

Her sister would know more than her. Jenny was raped and beaten the night they walked home from the theater. They ran into three or four white men, who took an interest in Jenny. They touched her hair, her cheek. Jenny told her to run. She didn't. Because how the fuck was she just going to leave her damn sister? The white men tried to persuade her to go as well, said that she shouldn't watch her sister like this. Fuck them. She was staying, and she'd fight. She'd claw and bite and kick and scratch and pull. Abbie was willing to die with her sister that night, to die battling for her sister that night.

But Jenny, too brave and stubborn for her own damn good, ordered her to go home, like she was the one who was the fucking oldest sister and not Abbie. Jenny promised she'd be back soon. Bullshit. She knew Jenny tried to protect her, return the favor. Abbie took the blame for Jenny when they were younger and in school. Jenny mouthed off; Abbie withstood the punishment: a hit across the face, a broken arm, a repeated grade level. It was her job to protect her sister in a white world. She'd surely do it again.

There were only two outcomes for Jenny. Alive or dead. Yet Abbie left and as she did, she prayed her sister came back to her not so broken, that she'd still have fight in her. Two hours later, Jenny returned. Her clothes ripped and cheek marked. They both had tears dripping and dropping down their faces. Jenny wiped Abbie's tears, shook her head, and pulled her in for a fitted hug. Jenny said she'd do it again if it meant keeping her safe. And all Abbie felt was ulcers of guilt.

Her sister wasn't here to protect her right now. She had her own job, trying to scoop wages for the crappy apartment they shared. There was no way she trusted this tall string bean to be sincere about his actions earlier, even as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

If a white man was kind to a black woman, he wanted something from her for his help. That's what she was told, too. White people were snakes. She didn't accept it and wiped the spit from her face with the back of her hand.

"Ma'am, please. I insist." He held it out to her.

She still didn't take it.

"You do not deserve such treatment. That man was disgusting."

She noticed the few people here began to observe them. "I have work."

He straightened up. "Very well. I shall leave this in case you may need it for a spell. One doesn't quite know what this weather may bring. It is clean if you are worried about sanitation." He folded it and hung it on the back of a wooden chair. "My name is Ichabod Crane. I am a history librarian. I'm curious to know your name, ma'am."

What's with him calling her ma'am as if he respected her? She was called "girl" and refused to give out her name if they asked.

"I have to finish working."

His shoulders slumped. Why was he so disappointed? Her name shouldn't matter to him.

"Very well. I will see to it you will not be disrupted the rest of the evening."

She nodded. Then watched him walk off without his handkerchief.

* * *

It was closing time. Everyone was gone. More people did come inside, but no one bothered Abbie or cause any trouble. She kept the tall man, Crane, in her sight and listened out for his footsteps in case he tried anything. However, he didn't. He sat at the front desk all day and politely smiled and nodded at her like they were friends.

If she were honest, she liked having someone to protect her besides herself, Jenny, and her parents before they died. She wouldn't accept this white man's help and kindness, convinced herself he wasn't honest, that she only stuffed the handkerchief in her uniform pocket because, like he said, the weather was unpredictable. Before she went out into cold, bundled, she said, "You can call me Abbie." The only reason she did it was because she hoped he wouldn't bother her anymore about it.

He smiled, nodded, bid her a safe evening. She might have did the same as she slid her fingers across the silk handkerchief.


	4. Window

Warning: Some dark moments in here. Mention of suicide and murder.

* * *

Abbie unbuttoned her coat, untied her scarf, shook off her boots, and pulled her gloves from her numb hands. The temperature outside was ridiculous, but she wasn't comfortable waiting with that Crane guy, so she took her chances and walked in the snow instead of rushing onto a trolley. Until today, she never had any contact with the man. Normally, she left work before him. She wanted to keep it that way.

"There's some food on the stove," Jenny said. "Meatloaf and potatoes. It's enough for tomorrow, too."

Abbie smiled. "Mama's recipe?"

"It wouldn't be anyone else's."

She followed her sister into their kitchen, which barely fit two people. She remembered when all four of them—Mama, dad, Jenny, and her— crowded in here for family dinners and dusty board games and birthdays. It was different now. Dad's laugher and baritone no longer squeezed into the scratches on the wooden floor or the crack on the hand-me-down whisking bowl Mama used. Mama's tell-tale brown eyes and witful tongue didn't tremble the ceiling or quiet everything in their apartment anymore. Their parents died.

Jenny put the plate in front of her. "How was the trolley home? How was work?"

Abbie cut her meatloaf into pieces. "I walked. Work was work."

They had an unspoken agreement where they wouldn't talk about the bad things that happened on the job unless these bad things gobbled too much of their peace. Their home deserved to be free of the troubling world. Both of them deserved that much, so they left hate, division, murder, death, and injustice on book shelves, on polished tables, on chopping boards, on baking sheets, and on trolley rides home. The bad things faltered when they stuck the key in the lock.

Her sister's eyes widened. "That's not—"

"I know, Jenn."

She risked her safety, yes. But which was more dangerous? Being within a grip of a white man or trudging home in fifteen degree weather?

"You want to tell me what happened?"

"I want to eat dinner." She tried her beef. It was comfy, how Mama made it. It was crammed with the right amount of pepper and salt and green peppers and onions and other seasonings she couldn't name.

"Abbs?"

Dropping her fork, she said, "Fine," and explained the bump in the library and the Crane man and the handkerchief.

"The library guy didn't try anything, did he?"

"No, but I wasn't sure if he eventually would've."

Jenny reached for her hand across the table. "I'm glad you're safe. That old bastard had it coming. And next time, if you can, please take the trolley."

She nodded, deciding to switch topics. That was enough of that. "What about you? How was the bakery?"

"No scuffles today. Hardly any customers due to the weather." Then she smirked.

There was that look. "What'd you do, Jenny?"

"I made cookies."

Abbie shook her head, chuckled. "Don't even tell me."

Jenny stayed in mischief. That girl was something wild, but Abbie loved her for it.

"I sprinkled cayenne pepper in all the batches. I might've mistaken it for cinnamon."

Oh, how they imagined red faces and flaming tongues and laughed.

As Abbie finished her potatoes, she said, "Mama would love this. She'd be happy."

Jenny learned Mama's recipes after she died a couple of years ago. She knew them by heart: her banana pudding, her chocolate cake, her chicken pot pie, and the remaining others. Jenny sold a few meals and desserts to the neighbors to earn extra cash for rent or for saving. Sometimes, it paid more than the job she has now, especially around the holidays. Not only that, Jenny also liked to ask around for rare antiques or artifacts to sell, too. They needed all the income they could get.

"I needed some part of her, you know?"

"I miss her, too," Abbie said.

Dad died first. He went into a store one weekend to buy some art supplies for them while they waited outside. Abbie watched Mama lose herself in the antique shop's window display next door, where she stuck her fingertips to the glass. While she did so, a not-so-kind white man snatched her arm. She told them to go inside with their dad. Jenny didn't want to; Abbie tried to pull her away.

"Come on," she said.

"Go on, babies. Go," Mama said to them.

And they did. They found dad in line, finishing up a payment, when they rushed to him, rambling simultaneously and breathless. They saw the white man groping their Mama in places he shouldn't when they went outside. Dad ordered them to get back. He charged for the white man; they both shoved and pushed and punched until the man pulled out a gun. Aside from the scrapes they got on the playground, that was the first time Abbie and Jenny saw that much blood. That was the first time they _really_ knew pain, racism, red hate. At eleven and thirteen, it was the first time they really knew who they were as black women, the trouble that could come.

The white man staggered off. Others stared like nothing happened, like their Mama wasn't bent over their dad's bulleted chest, weeping and weeping, like they didn't see their dad's blood splattered on the window display.

"I feel her each time I cook something of hers," Jenny said, smiling.

"Me, too. It's the same with dad."

Their dad taught them self-defense before he died. To bring in extra money, on weekends, Abbie held self-defense classes and trained the women in their neighborhood. She figured it was her duty to make sure other women stayed safe, since her dad constantly protected her and Jenny. Her words were firm, yet calm and gentle, like her father's. His presence was there.

She'd love to be a police officer, but a woman in police work was unheard of. A black woman in police work would definitely be counted out. As of now, she was happy with what she could teach. These women walked away with pulled-back shoulders and high heads, a strength they wore like a colorful, shiny necklace.

Abbie dumped her plate and cleaned it in the sink. She was happy her and her sister were able to continue what their parents left.

"Will you need some help this weekend?" Abbie said.

On some Saturdays, Jenny's boss, August Corbin, called her in if they needed an extra hand. Often, if Abbie had time before or after her class, she'd help out.

"Unfortunately. Someone decided to throw a Winter Wonderland party. They want cupcakes," Jenny said. "My shift starts at 2."

"Okay. My class isn't until noon. I'll meet you there."

"Alright. I'll let Corbin know. I'm heading to bed." Jenny kissed Abbie's cheek. "Love you."

"Love you, too. Night." She pushed her chair up to the table and stored the food in the fridge before heading into the shower.

She didn't take baths anymore. Some days, she could hardly stand the shower. Those grisly images of Mama's stiff body and slit wrist and the bloody water stung. There was no peace from it. It lived in her. They redecorated the bathroom, but it didn't do too much. They still knew its darkness.

When they were on the cuff of their twenties, Mama killed herself. She loved them dearly, but it was just too much for her, which is what the note said on the toilet. Losing her husband and having the responsibility of raising two black girls was heavy. Mama didn't remarry, which meant she had a lot of stress. Between working and trying to protect them from the world, it was overwhelming. Sometimes, she couldn't even protect herself. Yet, she continued to teach them, to make sure they were independent and resourceful, that they had strength and skills outside of housework and baking. That's why Abbie had class and why Jenny sold artifacts. Their Mama pushed them to it, wanting them to be the woman she couldn't be or somewhere close to it, despite society's views on black women.

Abbie wished she didn't give up, that the world didn't beat her down so much, didn't beat black people down so much. Her Mama would still be here with them, watching them take on their late twenties and the rest of womanhood. She'd truly be proud.

After Abbie showered, she went into her room. It used to be her and Jenny's as kids. Now, it's hers. Jenny sleeps in their parents' room; she liked being suffocated in their ghosts. Not Abbie. The entire apartment itself was more than enough.

She emptied her dress pocket, tracing the handkerchief pattern Crane gave her. Why she even kept it this long is beyond her. She should've threw it somewhere on her way home. And here she was, staring at it, at the kindness of the white library man. But she knew he wasn't kind underneath his warm accent. White men were never kind. White people, in general, weren't kind. Her and her family's experience told her so and so did the newspaper and the television and the neighbors.

Lifting her window, she threw the handkerchief out, where she watched to make sure it fell in the snow.


	5. Bakery

Yesterday was my birthday. lol Officially 23. :) And happy birthday to anyone else celebrating in March. Reviews would be an awesome birthday present. Thank you for reading. More to come. :) Little warning: mention of murder.

* * *

When Abbie walked into the abandoned school room, she wasn't expecting sniffles and wet eyes and slumped shoulders.

"What's wrong?" Abbie said, dropping her bag by the door.

One of the women, Tammy, got out of her rickety desk. As she spoke, Abbie barely heard her. Stella….visiting family in Georgia….white cop….beat…..protecting little brother.

She was reminded of her dad, of his fight, of his blood on the window. Then she saw Stella in defense, striking back. Her body slammed on concrete. The officer raising his baton. Bashing and denting her until she stilled. Abbie excused herself.

In the bathroom, she gagged and cried, gagged and cried. She knew Stella for three years. Of all the ladies she coached, Stella was the youngest. Eighteen when they met. Twenty-one and in a grave now. She sent a prayer for her family: her aunt and uncle up here and her parents and other relatives down south. Their lost was felt.

After Abbie wiped her face and gathered her breath, she returned to the other women. They lined up in their spots. Abbie was about to stay something when she paused to stare at Stella's mark at the beginning of the line. She was the first one here and the last one to leave. Stella flickered in front of her. Abbie saw her petite frame with her fists up, her weight on her front leg, her hair tied in a blue ribbon, her pursed lips, a little storm in her eyes, defiance.

She cleared her throat. "Class is cancelled."

"No," Tammy held her head and raised her shoulders.

Abbie glanced at the other girls. They stood firm, too. She admired their strength, their boldness to keep on. "For Stella," their stances told her. For all the black women who didn't know how to defend themselves and for the black women who died because they did. So Abbie taught, and they learned.

* * *

After class, Abbie went home to shower. Though heavy with grief, she found it in herself to meet Jenny at the bakery.

"Hey, kid," Corbin said at the register.

Abbie gave him a small smile, but she didn't speak to him. It's not that she didn't like Corbin. He was great to her and Jenny. His son, Joe, was kind, too. They were the only white people her and Jenny "trusted" really. He was a friend of their parents, not like those other shitty cats as Corbin described himself. They were comfortable with him. He never minded any of Jenny's antics either. He's even helped her.

"One of those days, huh?"

She nodded.

It's like his beard frowned with the rest of his face. "I wish the world was better." He patted her shoulder. "You sister's in the back."

She nodded again before leaving him.

"How was class?" Jenny said.

She sighed, pulled her hair back, slung on her apron, washed and dried her hands.

"What happened?"

Abbie grabbed the mixing bowl Jenny had.

"Did someone—?"

"No."

"Then what—"

"Fuck off, Jenny."

Her sister narrowed her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek. She bumped Abbie's shoulder as she passed her to get the cupcakes out of the oven. Sometimes Jenny didn't know when to quit. Her pushiness irked her. She got that from Mama.

They worked in silence, in a routine. Mixing, pouring, baking, cooling, icing, boxing. Abbie tried not to think about Stella, but she had no choice when Jenny told her to ice the rest of the cupcakes blue. Her breathe quickened again as she pictured Stella's blue hair ribbon. Some of the girls teased her about it, even though Stella claimed it made her less clumsy; it was lucky. Abbie smiled and cried.

Jenny put her hand on Abbie's back without a word.

She explained the news to her sister.

Jenny hugged her. "I know what she meant to you."

"They all mean alot."

The sugar and vanilla scent from her sister's hair comforted her just a little. The sadness was bearable. The anger wasn't.

"I fucking hate white people, except Corbin and Joe," Abbie said.

She iced the rest of the cupcakes while she thought about how impossible it was to live in this world. At church, pastors and deacons and first ladies preached for the congregation to forgive. Abbie wasn't a big Christian. She believed, but her faith has been a sore spot since her parents and what happened with Jenny. After that, it kept piling.

"Love unconditionally," the church said, "even the white people." It was a load of shit. Even Jesus couldn't save them, couldn't save her. She felt herself being tugged further and further by the fury abiding in her breast bone. But she couldn't give in to it. She thought of Mama and how all that anger and sadness enriched her. She knew she had to try to focus on the positive. Her and Jenny both had jobs to support themselves. They had their side jobs that fulfilled them. Most importantly, they had each other. And that was always enough for Abbie to keep her from dwindling down the ledge.

As Abbie and Jenny finished the last of the cupcakes, Corbin and Joe walked into the kitchen.

"I'm about to deliver these," Corbin said. "Joe, would you mind starting on those snicker doodles for tomorrow? Abbie, Jen, would you two mind taking care of things upfront?"

They took off their aprons while Joe put on his. He held the door for them, smiled at Abbie, and blushed at Jenny, who pretended not to notice.

"Thanks for coming in, Mills," Joe said, more so to her sister.

Jenny nodded as they walked by him.

No one came in for a good twenty minutes, so Abbie helped her sister balance the register. She didn't know how to broach the subject with Joe because she knew Jenny would shut down. Abbie couldn't just outright say, "Joe likes you. Are you okay?" She had to take another approach.

"Do you want to talk about 'the thing'?" she said.

"There's no 'thing,' Abbie. There won't be a 'thing,' considering my…..previous encounter. Oh, and let's not forget nearly all of fucking racist America. There's no 'thing.'"

"I'm worried about you." She took her hand.

Joe would never make a move on Jenny, especially after she put him on his ass once. He made the mistake of pointing at something that was in her hair. Jenny thought he tried to touch her. Joe kept his distance after that, so he wouldn't frighten her. But he made it a point to show both sisters he didn't mean them any harm.

When Jenny decided she wanted to work here, Abbie was shocked. They knew the old man since they were teens. Their parents used to buy cakes and other pastries from him all the time. They eventually became close, and their parents invited him over for family dinner some days. Corbin even offered her and Jenny plenty of chances to work in his bakery during summer breaks. With all Jenny endured after their parents passed, Abbie could hardly believe it. Jenny said she wanted to feel close to Mama and dad, so Abbie didn't ask anymore. Eventually, she had to stop worrying so much. Jenny usually came home happy, except when there were shitty customers.

Before she started working there, Jenny made it very clear to Corbin that she wanted to work alone or with Abbie. She didn't give him all the details, but Corbin read between the lines, didn't pry. He made sure to separate Jenny and Joe, to make sure she was content and at ease.

"Don't. There's no 'thing.'"

Abbie hugged her sister. "If it gets too much being here—"

"Leave. I know."

She kissed Jenny's forehead. "Take care of you. Promise?"

Jenny nodded.

Abbie didn't want her sister to get triggered while working here. All she could do was trust she would be alright, wouldn't submit herself to an environment that could traumatize her.

The bell dinged on the door as they finished counting the change and bills.

"Hello. How can we help—?" Abbie paused. She nearly dropped the coins.

"Oh, what a pleasant surprise. How lovely to see you again, ma'am. Your name is Abbie. Is that correct?" he said.

Abbie nodded. "Library guy, right? Crane?"

"It is. I hope you are faring well today, Miss Abbie despite the weather." He glanced at Jenny. "It's nice to see you today, Miss Jenny. I hope your day is also going well."

"You two know each other?" Abbie said.

Jenny nodded. "Small goddamned world, huh?"

"Indeed," Crane said. "How did you two become acquainted if I may inquire?"

"She's my sister," Jenny said.

"Ah. I can see the resemblance now." His eyes lingered on Abbie. "If I may say, you are very beautiful, ma'am."

She didn't know what the hell was going on. Could he just get what he wanted and leave?

She cleared her throat. "Right. So, what can we get for you?"

"I will take four sugar cookies. I think I'll keep my distance from the snicker doodles. Those were quite spicy."

Abbie smirked at Jenny, who bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

"I'll wrap those up for you. It'll be one dollar." Jenny went to get his cookies while he pulled out a bill.

He handed Abbie a five. She handed him back his change, but he put the rest in the tip jar.

Both of them stood there. Awkwardly. She wasn't about to bring up the incident. His fingers wiggled.

"I—"

"Your cookies," Jenny said.

"Thank you for your service. Have a pleasant afternoon, ladies." He bowed for them. Then he left.

Abbie let out a breath.

"Holy shit. He comes in here all the time, gives awesome tips, too. I can't believe that's him."

"Funny how that works."

"Do you want to talk about 'the thing,' Abbie?" Jenny laughed, referring to his compliment about her beauty.

Abbie couldn't help but laugh either. "Shut the fuck up, Jenny."

"And his snicker doodles comment?" She giggled harder.

"Poor man."

They giggled until their cheeks hurt.

"In all seriousness, you be careful, too. He's very charming, but it's all an act. I'm sure he's the worst of them all."

Abbie nodded. "I know."

Jenny patted her hand.

Nearly ninety-nine percent of Abbie knew she couldn't trust him. But the way he spoke to her and her sister, his kindness, his sincerity. That one percent of her wanted to say she could, that he was who he appeared to be.


	6. A Classic

Thank you all so much for hanging in with this story. I really, really appreciate it. I know it's tough and pretty dark, but there will be some light moments. Ichabbie will happen. It'll just take some time. :) Some surprises will be coming soon after getting some feedback and ideas from Sing (author of Aurore and other amazing Ichabbie fic; check her out). Just prepare yourselves.

* * *

Abbie was on guard as she cleaned tables and re-shelved books. It was Monday, still snowing. Few people came in again. This was her preference, mostly empty and quiet. On busy days, New Yorkers stood in long lines at the book drop or the front desk, shuffled their work or school papers, dropped, left behind, and misplaced books, and complained about due library fines.

Teenagers crowded tables with their school work, whispering, giggling, sliding notes, and throwing balled pieces of notebook sheets. Little children squirmed in their chairs, ran down aisles as soon as their parents released their hands to reach a book, and spoke aloud with playful voices. The adults sat with their brief cases and open manila folders and their clicking pens, stooped over for hours. They checked their watches, yawned, and stretched.

Soon all the patrons packed up for home. Teens crammed their books in their bags, children tugged their parents' hands, and the other adults neatly piled their documents in their briefcases.

Then Abbie could finally breathe easier. But today just wasn't that day. She breathed quickly throughout her tasks, jumped at even a chair scrubbing the carpet. That silvery-haired man hadn't come in at all, which she was grateful for, but she knew to expect the unexpected. Any of these other people here could be like him, could grip her arm, call her a nigger. It was possible to experience it all over again. Her best bet was to remain invisible, unseen, like half the books on this shelf no one bothered to pay attention to.

She glanced through a popular play, found it thrown about on a table. She was supposed to put it back on the shelf, but here was, skimming the dialogue. Sometimes, she glimpsed through a book if no one was around or near closing. However, even if it interested her, she left it alone. Black people weren't allowed to check out books here. They had their own library, which she's been in a few times. It's nowhere near as selective as this one. They barely had a children's section.

"Such a classic, isn't it?" a man with a British accent said.

Startled, she dropped the book. "I was just returning it." She bent to retrieve it, but he got to it first.

"I apologize for startling you, ma'am," Crane said.

"I should finish what I was doing."

Before she could leave, he said, "One moment, please."

"I have work."

"Would you like to borrow it?"

She checked around her, praying as she did so. There was no telling what would happen if someone caught them like this, alone in an empty aisle. Her stomach tumbled, her breathing was fast again. She shouldn't have been so distracted. She should have put the book back and left.

Abbie shook her head, inspected around her again.

"Very little people frequent this area, except for me. It's kind of a pity really. I assume readers are over such literature like this. " _Romeo and Juliet"_ has always been my favorite story since I could remember. My father read it to me at bedtime. Perhaps it wasn't the cheeriest tale to recite to a child, but I didn't mind. My parents acted out the characters if you can imagine such a scene."

Abbie couldn't relax despite his hint that she could. Anyone could catch them. It didn't help that he talked so damned much.

"Interesting."

"Are you a fan of Shakespeare, too?"

"My Mama was."

He was silent, like he thought to hear more.

That was all she'd say. He didn't need to know her business. She certainly didn't ask to know his.

Crane cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you be. It is nice to see you again, ma'am. Please, send Miss Jenny my regards."

She was about ready to run away, but she swallowed that impulse, clenched and unclenched her hands behind her back, bit her tongue. What was she supposed to say? Thank you? It's nice to see you again, too? Either he didn't care that someone could stumble upon them or he didn't understand the way of America.

"What do you want from me?"

He frowned, shook his head. "I do not wish to do you harm." He took a step back.

So he said.

"What do you want then?"

"Simply put: your friendship. We work in the same building. I would like to introduce myself and become your acquaintance, if you'll permit me to."

"I have enough friends."

He nodded. "Very well."

She hoped he got the hint and turned around to leave until he said something else.

"I'll hold this for you."

She didn't know why he was being so kind. They couldn't be friends. Corbin and Joe were enough. Even that was risky. Abbie didn't thank him, didn't say okay. She left him standing there.

* * *

As Abbie waited for the trolley, she heard a throat clear behind her. She sighed, rolled her eyes. Why couldn't he leave her alone?

"You can keep it as long as you'd like. This is my personal copy actually. Oddly, I didn't see it in the section when I first began working here. I thought I'd share my own." He held the book out for her.

She didn't accept it.

"I insist."

The trolley turned the corner. It could not come quick enough. She was in a slightly defensive position in case he was stupid enough to make any moves.

"It's alright."

The trolley stopped in front of them. It was crowded. The doors opened; the driver yelled out, "One seat left."

"I will wait for the next one. And, please." He held the book a little further toward her.

Abbie wasn't going to take it, not at all.

"Who's getting on?" the trolley man said.

"You may keep it as long as you wish."

His gentle lilt and benevolent blue eyes persuaded her. She took it and hurried on the trolley, thankful none of the riders or driver paid attention to them.

* * *

Abbie hid the book in her coat before she walked in the apartment, so Jenny wouldn't question her about it.

"Hey," her sister said as soon as entered the foyer.

"Hey. How was your day?" Abbie shut the door with her butt and locked it with the hand that wasn't holding her coat closed.

"Good. Made a cake today. Yours?"

"Nothing special. Let me take my coat off. I'll be back." Abbie kissed her sister's forehead on the way to her room.

She closed her door, stuffed the book in her drawer, and tugged off her coat and shoes. Then she went into the kitchen.

"You saw library man again?" Jenny fixed her meal as Abbie sat down.

"He works there, remember?"

"Yeah, but still. Did he talk to you?"

"Hardly."

Abbie didn't lie to her sister often, only when necessary. She didn't want Jenny to worry, to get suspicious.

"What'd he say?"

"Nothing much. Just told me to tell you hi."

"That's it?" She sat a plate in front of Abbie.

As she stuffed her mouth, she supposedly heard flipping pages, like that person in a " _Tell- Tale Heart_ ," who believed he heard the thumping, thumbing of the dead man's heart underneath his floorboard. Only she heard her guilt under her socks and bras.

"Yup."

"Stay safe, okay?" Her sister yawned.

"I will. Tell the old man hi for me."

Jenny nodded. "Speaking of Corbin, he said he may need you again this weekend. Joe is coming down with a cold."

"I'll be there. What time?"

She just hoped Crane wouldn't show up again.

"I'll let you know whenever he tells me." She yawned again. "I'd stay and chat, but I'm tired. Going to bed. Love you." Jenny kissed her sister's cheek.

"Love you, too. Night."

Abbie was left alone with her fried steak, gravy, onions, veggies, and cornbread. What was she thinking? Though a nice gesture, she'd give that book back tomorrow as soon as she could. It wasn't hers to borrow. Didn't he know the laws, what was accepted and unaccepted? Too worried to eat, she wrapped her plate up and stored it in the fridge. A shower sounded nice, yet that didn't calm her down.

She paced in her room. Paced and paced until finally she snatched the book out her drawer, threw it on her bed. In the snow seemed like a better place for it, but the book didn't belong to her. It was his favorite after all. Sighing, she sat down, picked it up, opened the cover. His initials, I.C, were scribed in cursive in the top left corner. Abbie traced it with her fingers, smiled to herself. This man was crazy. And she was crazier for letting him go this far.

Here she was though, turning dogged-eared pages with pen markings and writings. The spine was bent in half. It was quite a worn book. Mama used to read this. She was a hopeless romantic, read the book at least three times a month. One month, she read it so much that dad hid it from her. Mama was so mad at him; she didn't speak to him for a week when she couldn't find it. She remembered how Mama told her how Juliet and Romeo's love conquered.

"But they died, Mama."

"Yes, baby. Still, even in death, their love endured. That's what's important. Love doesn't leave. It stays with you, in you, covers you. It stuffs you like air in balloons. Don't let that balloon pop, don't let that string go, despite the wind that'll try to blow it into the sky or the needles that'll try to poke it. Don't let love go. You hear me?"

Abbie nodded, not really understanding at such a young age.

She understood better now. There are moments that could've ruined her and Jenny, that could've torn them apart. But they held the string, refused to let the balloon go, to let it pop.

Other than her the familial love for her sister and parents, Abbie's never really experienced romantic love. She thought she might've once, with a boy named Danny from high school. She didn't think she loved him how Romeo and Juliet loved each other. It was more like a dear friend with Danny. Anyway, she couldn't be concerned with love. There was work and her sister and her classes. That was enough for now.

She hoped Crane's behavior wasn't pretend or some kind of trap. As she traced his initials again, she decided to indulge herself for a short bit, to keep something for herself. He said she could take her time. Jenny didn't have to know. Just this once she accepted his generosity. She settled on the first act.


	7. Scarf (Part 1)

Thank you all so much for reading. Sorry for the long wait. :) Reviews are welcome. Give me your feedback. Tell me where you want to see this story go. Warning: this chapter contains the n-word and brief mentions of lynching.

* * *

"How is the reading?" Crane said while they waited for the trolley.

They glanced at each other in passing today. Abbie made sure to stay occupied with work, so he wouldn't make any attempts to speak to her until now, when the library closed, when people tucked themselves into their winter wear and went to their warm homes.

She's never read the play word for word, but Mama often quoted her favorite passages from it. Those were the ones she knew. It was nice to read them in their context.

"It's interesting. I'll return it Friday," she said.

"You may keep it as long as you wish. I doubt anyone is going to miss it."

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome, Miss Abbie."

"You can just call me Abbie."

"Miss Abbie is more so proper. Actually, it is most appropriate if I address you by your last name instead, Miss…"

"Mills. And suite yourself." She paused. "You really get into your reading."

He chuckled. "It is a habit of mine. I like to interact with the story. My markings didn't cause distractions from the text, did they? My sincerest apologies if they resulted in annoyance."

He underlined, circled, boxed, commented, questioned, and folded pages in half. She didn't mind and enjoyed reading his commentary.

"It doesn't bother me. It just means you're very observant. You take everything in."

"Indeed." He stared at her like he wanted to say more, but his eyes dropped to the snow.

"My Mama did the same thing in her copy. My dad teased her about it. He told her those characters wouldn't write back to her." She shook her head, smiled, and told him about how her dad hid the book.

Abbie still had it, but she kept it in a memory box she decorated for them. If she even flipped the cover open, she was afraid Mama would come from the grave and tell her to remove her damned hands. Mama never let her read her books but often told her about the stories and characters in them.

Crane laughed. "They sounded like quite the pair."

"They were."

"If I may ask, what happened to your parents? I noticed you referred to them in the past tense."

Abbie wasn't one to open up to a stranger so suddenly, but here she was, revealing. That one percent made her say things.

"They died. Our dad first. Then our Mama."

"I am so sorry for you and Miss Jenny's losses." He paused. "I, too, lost my parents. It was due to pneumonia. I miss them dearly."

She examined his downturned mouth and droopy eyes. Why was he so grief stricken? Her ulcer of anger wouldn't let her sympathize. Pneumonia. His parents died because of fucking pneumonia, not because one of them was chested with a bullet or because one of them split their wrist and let their blood flow freely like gusted wind chimes. But because of a harsh cough, because of a throbbing chest, because of breath that whistled and eventually gave out in their balmy sleep. Their death was peaceful and privileged. Death didn't carry her parents like that. She was ugly to them, reddish, lashing, speedy, white hate. No, she couldn't say sorry.

"That must've been hard."

"It was. How were your parents deceased?"

"You ask too many questions," she said.

"I am simply rather curious. You do not have to share."

"I wasn't."

"Very well. I understand. There are certain matters which are personal and intimate to one. I've no right to intrude."

She was glad he got it and tugged her coat around her neck. Her scarf would've been nice right about now if Jenny didn't swipe it from the coat rack on her way out. Somehow hers ripped. Abbie was annoyed, but she let her sister have it. She'd rather freeze instead of Jenny. When would this snow let up anyway? Was the trolley even on its way?

"Would you like to borrow my scarf? It is rather chilly out here."

Chilly was a fucking understatement.

"I'm fine," she said.

Sharing a book was one thing, but clothes? That's where she drew the line. She wouldn't accept it.

"Miss Mills, I do not want you to be uncomfortable. I insist." He removed it from his neck, held it out for her.

She shook her head. "What's the deal?"

"Pardon?"

"Why are you being so nice? What do you want?"

"I don't—"

"You're a white man offering your scarf, your book, to a black woman in 1960. You've defended me when that man was rude toward me. You've called me beautiful. There's no telling when the next trolley will come in this weather, but you let me take the last seat while you wait in the cold. Not to mention, you're nice to my sister and gave me your handkerchief. So what is it? What do you want, Ichabod?"

She was tired of them fogging the lines. There were rules that weren't supposed to be bent, even if they were in the North, a supposedly liberal and progressive state, a place for better opportunity for black people. That was shit. The whites up here were no different than the ones in the South. Racism wasn't terribly blatant here, but it still existed. Black people had a "proper place" in New York, too.

"Why must I want something from you, Abbie? Why mustn't I treat you with respect and dignity? Why mustn't I treat you like a lady? Why mustn't I treat you like a human being? That is what you are. Furthermore, I am not color blind. I am, indeed, white and male. You are an African-American woman. Miss Jenny is an African American woman. I know how America treats African Americans—"

Her ulcer of anger got bigger.

"You have no idea how America treats us. You know from what you watch on television and read in newspapers, but you will _never_ _know_ that, Crane. You can empathize, but that's it. You don't _know_ hate. You don't know what it's like to be stripped of basic rights. You don't know what it's like to hear about or see a lynching. You don't know what it's like to watch your family being treated like shit."

"You are right. I won't ever know the plight of being African American. I apologize for my insensitivity, my poor choice of words. It was never my intention to upset you. I only meant that I am not ignorant to this country's attitudes toward Black Americans, which is utterly detestable. I truly am sorry, Abbie."

She sighed, pulled her collar closer. "What do you want?"

"As I told you before, I would like to be friends."

"We can't be friends."

"What is your rationale besides our skin color?"

Was he serious? Just because they lived in the North didn't mean they were safe, that she was safe.

"I could die. Is that rationale enough? If we were in the South, we wouldn't be having this conversation, let alone working together unless I was your maid."

She wasn't about to risk her life for a friendship she couldn't have publicly and one that people wouldn't accept. Abbie almost lost Jenny that night. The heavy waiting, the bottomless worry, the frantic pacing and crying. She wasn't about to subject her to that torment because she was buddy buddy with a white man.

"I would never want to put you in harm's way." He glanced at his scarf. "It would be much easier if we lived in another time, one where your life wouldn't be jeopardized for engaging with me. It's rather foolish and selfish of me to suggest such an idea in the first place. I fear I do not use my head some moments. I can be such a wishful thinker. I will not ask anymore. However, will you at least accept my scarf? You are freezing. I know what is custom and what is law, but you, as an African American woman in this world, deserve kindness and respect. I hope this is an indication of that."

It was hard for Abbie to believe that he genuinely wanted to be her friend, that he genuinely wanted to treat her the way she was supposed to be treated. And yet, that one percent of her believed him again. He was thoughtful. The trolley started to round the corner. She took his scarf.

"Thank you," she said.

Abbie knew they were both fucking crazy.

* * *

It smelled like wood and pine trees and was red and cozy, like warm socks out the dryer, but Abbie hid the scarf under her coat before she entered their apartment. She did not need Jenny asking her questions about where she got it from. This is the second time she's hid from her. It wasn't like her to lie to her, to keep secrets, but she didn't want Jenny to worry or get upset. Nothing was happening between her and Crane anyway. They weren't friends. They just were what they were.

"Hey, Abbs," Jenny said, turning off the stove.

She was always cooking. Abbie wondered how she did it so much. But she was grateful for hot and homemade meals, so she never questioned it.

"Hey. How was work?"

"The same old, same old." She shrugged. "You?"

"Same."

"Did you freeze out there?" Jenny giggled.

"Hell yeah. I needed my scarf, you know?"

"Sorry. Yours was right there. I didn't have time to find mine."

"So you say." Abbie walked to her room hang her coat and scarf up. Then she went into the kitchen, where her plate was on the table.

"I did buy myself another one after work, so you can keep yours. I have it in my room."

"You may as well keep it."

"Oh? It's your favorite scarf."

"It's my only scarf, but it's okay. You might lose one tomorrow or something."

"You already bought one, didn't you?"

Abbie ate some of her potatoes. "Something like that."

"It better be the best scarf ever for you to just let me keep yours."

She bit her lip. "It just may be."

"Well, thanks. And we have Corbin's this weekend." Jenny kissed her cheek before heading off to bed. "Night."

* * *

"Hey, kid," Corbin said when Abbie walked into the bakery.

"Hey, old man. Heard Joe was catching a cold."

He nodded. "Yeah. At home resting. I need all hands on deck today."

"You know I don't mind."

"Thanks, kid." He patted her shoulder. "Feel free to take any extras home."

"Will do."

Abbie headed to the kitchen, where Jenny mixed cookie dough. She removed her coat and the scarf, put on her apron, and washed her hands.

"How was class today?"

Class would never be class without Stella, without her blue ribbon and clumsy feet and determined chatter. She was missed.

"It was difficult." Abbie grabbed some dough from the bowl, kneaded it into a flat-like circle.

"Yeah, I can imagine. I still can't believe it. How is her family?"

"Trying to hold on. They're arranging her funeral in Georgia."

Stella's aunt and uncle would travel down South and stay for a few days. Any of her friends or co-workers were welcome to join them.

"Are you going to go?"

"As crazy as it is, I'm thinking about it."

"Seriously?"

"She was my student, Jenny."

"Anything could happen to you."

"You don't think I'm afraid?"

"What if you don't come back?" She paused. "I almost sure as hell didn't return that night."

Abbie flinched, stopped swirling the dough in her palms. There was nothing she could say because Jenny was right. And all of those feelings choked her. Her sister could have died. Abbie was terrified Jenny may receive the same call about how her and an officer got into an altercation or how she ended up hanging from a tree in the woods.

"We are all we get, Abbie."

She hugged Jenny and kissed her forehead as she cried. Could she really risk it? Could she really leave her sister to worry herself mad? Could she recreate that trauma for Jenny, for herself even?

"You're right."

No, she couldn't.

* * *

They slid the cookies in the oven.

"I'm going to stop by Stella's aunt and uncle's place for a bit. Maybe bring them some dessert. It's the least I could do."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"I'll be okay. Thanks though."

"I didn't mean to give you a hard time. I just…"

"Jenny." Abbie shook her head. An explanation wasn't necessary. "I know. It's okay."

She nodded.

* * *

"I need you two kids upfront. I'm going to go to my office to call little Joey."

"We'll be up there," Jenny said.

"Tell him hi for me, Corbin." She patted his arm. "Hope he feels better."

"Thank you, Abbie. Just yell if you need me. I won't be long."

They nodded and made their way to the front of the register, where a white woman entered in a long trench coat and a knitted hat. With her nose erected high in the air, she barely made eye contact with them.

"Hi, what can we get for you?" Jenny said.

"I'll take two vanilla cupcakes." She held out her cash and quickly withdrew her hand, like she was afraid Jenny had something worse than cooties.

Jenny counted her change while Abbie fixed her order. She accidentally dropped one of the cupcakes.

"Damn it," Abbie said.

"You clumsy nigger," said the white woman.

She grew warm, a little panicky. They were the ones to really be careful about. Oh, how they twisted tales, like the white lady in Mississippi, who said Emmett Till flirted with her. That little boy turned up mutilated, beaten, drowned, and barely recognizable, leaving his mother and community with stones and stones of grief.

"It was an accident. She didn't mean it," Jenny said.

Abbie breathed. "You can have them free of charge. Give her back her change."

She crossed her arms. "Not until she apologizes."

It was hard for Abbie to bite her tongue in situations like this, but it was even harder for Jenny. This wasn't the time for her stubbornness and defiance and protection. She knew the consequences. The only reason she pushed the limit was because Corbin was here and gave her an out. He always defended her when she back-talked a customer, who left red-faced and empty-handed and didn't return. But Corbin wouldn't be there all the time.

"Now," Abbie said.

Jenny bit the inside of her cheek, huffed, and reopened the register. She slammed her money on the counter.

"You insolent nigger. How dare you? I'll have my—"

"What seems to be the problem?" Corbin said with his hands on his hips.

"Your workers are rotten. This one here dropped my cupcake on purpose while this one nearly threw my money at me. They should be fired or worse. I don't know why you insist upon hiring coloreds. They do nothing but steal and cheat. They are filthy niggers."

Jenny balled her fist, and Abbie took her hand, calming her. She prayed she wouldn't say anything. Sometimes, she had quite the temper.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I suggest you get. These women did no such thing. You will not disrespect their character. Get."

"You're defending—"

"I said get. Now."

She stormed out, but not before telling them her husband would here about this.

"That bitch," Jenny said.

"You two okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Corbin."

He saved their asses and now he would take them home. That's what he did if they had an unpleasant occurrence with a customer. He didn't want them outside if there was a possibility of them getting hurt. That same customer could linger near the store, waiting for them. Corbin would never put them in danger if he could help it. He even made them wait a week or two before returning to the bakery.

"Abbie, Jenny, you know the drill."

They took off their aprons and hurried to the back to get their belongings. Abbie also packed a few desserts for Stella's family. As she wrapped the scarf around her neck, the bell on the door dinged.

"We are about to close for a moment, sir. You'll have to come back in about half an hour," Corbin said.

"Oh, very well."

It was Crane, who was the last person Abbie wanted to see, but oddly, he wasn't.

"Hello." He smiled. "It is nice to see you two lovely ladies again."

Jenny grumbled while Abbie said, "You, too."

He glimpsed at his scarf. "It looks rather charming on you."

She wanted to cringe at his compliment. It was nice. However, she prayed her sister couldn't read between the lines, wouldn't put two and two together, but Jenny never missed a damned thing. She had a feeling she'd hear about it later.

"Thank you. It's keeping me warm. I hope you're staying bundled in this weather, too."

"Indeed I am. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Well, I see you all have to go. I shall return another day. I wish you both a great weekend."

"You, too." She gripped the scarf. "Thank you."

"It is my pleasure. Anyhow, I do not want to keep your time any further. Enjoy your afternoon." He smiled, tipping his head toward them.

She twisted his scarf around her hands. He had a way of glinting a little hope in her.

* * *

"If you girls need anything or see anything, you let me know," Corbin said after he stopped in front of their apartment building.

They nodded.

"Thanks, Corbin," Jenny said.

"I told your Mama I'd keep an eye out for you two. Be careful. And Jenny—"

"I know."

"I want you safe, okay?"

"Yeah."

Abbie thanked Corbin again and they went inside.

"You need to fucking cool it, Jenny," she said, slamming the door behind them.

"Me? What the hell was that with library man?" Jenny said.

"We're talking about you and your damn temper right now, not me."

"My temper shouldn't be the issue when you're the one entertaining a white man. Are you fucking serious, Abbie?"

"I'm not entertaining anything or anyone."

"You're wearing his fucking scarf."

She took it off and threw it on the ground. "Happy?"

She paced. "I still can't believe this. How did you think this was okay?"

"Why am I being singled out? Your slick fucking mouth could get us in trouble, too, Jenny."

"Somehow, it doesn't seem as bad as what you're doing."

Why was Abbie the bad person? She didn't like that they pointed fingers. They knew the ramifications. One action wasn't worse than the other.

"It's nothing. He's—"

"What? Kind?" She chuckled. "And you're telling me to cool it. After what happened to me? Do you really think he's so gentle, that he gives a shit?"

Her and Crane weren't together. She doesn't know why she wants to stick up for him. She understood where her sister was coming from, but this was nothing. The lumps of guilt in her stomach didn't tell her that.

"We're not even friends, Jenny."

"Like it fucking matters. I've seen how he looks at you. He likes you. And I have a feeling you won't be able to draw the boundaries. You didn't even tell me about this. You lied, Abbie. To me. Of all people. What other trinkets did he give you? What other sweet things did he say? You're supposed to be on your guard. What would—"

"Shut up. Do not bring Mama into this. I am not the only who has to be responsible."

"You aren't. I have work to do, too. I'll admit it. But I'm not stupid enough to keep the wrong company."

Abbie shouldn't have said what she said. She knew better. She was oldest, the example. And Jenny was angry, hurt, and pushed her buttons. Abbie knew how to push hers too.

"Fuck you, Jenny."

Then she grabbed the pastry box and left, slamming the door behind her again. She stomped up the stairs to Stella's. Jenny didn't know what the fuck she was talking about. Abbie wasn't keeping company with him. They weren't friends, and she had no intentions of crossing boundaries because she wouldn't need to draw them in the first place. They weren't together. And yet, what Jenny said had a bit of truth and forced her to ask the question she tried to ignore. Did she want to cross the boundaries? She knocked on the door before she gave herself the answer.


	8. Scarf (Part 2)

An update. :) Warning: this chapter will contain a description of a lynching. :( Feel free to skip this chapter completely or skip around within it.

* * *

"Do you want some coffee, sugar?" Mrs. Ann said. Her Southern accent was Roddenbery's Cane Patch Syrup on homemade biscuits and fried chicken and greens after Sunday service. It was love with love.

Abbie shook her head. "No, ma'am, but thank you. I just wanted to share my condolences. Stella was amazing."

She wasn't even intending to come in. They needed their space. Plus, Abbie didn't want to be a reminder of their loss, but Mrs. Ann, and her husband, Mr. Sam, insisted.

Stella always spoke so nicely of her aunt and uncle. She saw why. She's only met them once, when Stella introduced her to them after one of her classes. They thanked her for what she taught their niece, for what she taught other women.

"We sure do appreciate you coming by, sweetie," she said. "The funeral is next weekend. I told some of the girls who took your class to inform you."

Mrs. Ann put a plate of cookies in front of her, along with a glass of milk. Then she sat in her own seat. When Mr. Sam tried to help himself, Mrs. Ann swatted his hand away from the box and reminded him about watching his sugar. He frowned, took a seat, and settled for his cup of coffee. They were kind of like her parents.

"They told me. I'm so sorry I won't be attending."

"We understand. We expected a lot of declines from people. They said they didn't know how safe it would be to travel to Georgia."

"We're scared, too, but our family needs us," Mr. Sam squeezed his wife's hand, kissed her forehead. Abbie glanced in her glass. They were just like Mama and dad. Their love and support for each other was sweet on the tongue.

If it were Jenny, she'd travel to wherever to see her, even if it was for the last time. Stella was fearless, unafraid to try. That inspired Abbie to research more about self-defense and combat, to be the best teacher she could be for them, for Stella. Abbie had to honor her student; it was the least she could do.

"What time do you leave?"

* * *

As she walked into her apartment, Abbie wasn't sure how she'd tell Jenny about the funeral. Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam needed the support, no matter how put together they seemed. Abbie also felt partly responsible for Stella's death, that what she taught her eventually got her killed. There wasn't a way to really unsettle that guilt. She had to go, to tell Stella she was sorry for cutting her life short.

Crane's scarf was still on the floor; Abbie grabbed it and slung it over her arm. Her sister wasn't in the kitchen. There wasn't dinner on the stove, no plate set out for her. After she changed her clothes, she braced herself to knock on Jenny's door.

"We need to talk. It's important."

Her sister stood in the doorway. "What?"

"I'm going to Stella's funeral."

"Fine."

"Her family could use the company down the road. We're taking a train."

"Be careful."

Abbie wanted Jenny to say that she'd go, too, even if she wasn't travelling alone.

Jenny didn't fix her lips to say anything, except, "Is that all?"

"Yeah."

Her aunt and uncle were leaving Friday and staying until Sunday. She wouldn't have to worry about paying for a train ticket, though Abbie was adamant she would pay her way. Mrs. Ann wouldn't hear of it. Once she crossed her arms, there was no further debating. Abbie thanked her numerous times before leaving.

"Jenny, about Crane—"

"Don't. We know where we stand."

"Nothing is—"

"Goodnight."

She hoped that when Jenny slammed the door it wouldn't hurt as much it did.

* * *

It was a quiet week at the library. No problems occurred. Abbie practically held her breath her entire shift. She wasn't fully relieved until it ended. Her and Crane crossed aisles a few times. They didn't speak, but they acknowledged the other. It was better for her that way, safer. She thought he began to understand that. After her shift ended each day and the library officially closed, they stood in their spots, on the lookout for the trolley. They made small talk. It was their routine. Sometimes, he told her a little bit more about his parents, like how they loved to watch old Christmas movies when it wasn't December. Abbie shared small pieces, too, like how hers had a thing for sweets and baked cinnamon rolls together every weekend.

"Good evening, Miss Mills. I hope you faring well today."

"I am. You?"

"Indeed. Is 'Romeo and Juliet' to your satisfaction?"

"It's interesting. I'm almost done. I've actually been writing in your book. I hope you don't mind."

As she read it, she marked lines and asked questions. In act 2, scene 2, she drew a balloon. That was Mama's favorite passage, one she often read aloud to her. As a child, she didn't quite understand what was being said there, but she understood the feeling behind the words. It was a little clearer now, though most times the dialogue still went over her head. Crane's annotations helped a bit. Romeo and Juliet loved each other from what she gathered. That's all there was to it.

"I do not in the slightest. Feel free." He paused. "I see you are taking quite the liking to my scarf."

She laughed, tied it a little tighter. "You're not getting this back."

"I didn't think I would. I hope you enjoy it. How is Miss Jenny?"

Her smile got smaller. "Fine."

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah. We just got into a fight recently."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. If you don't mind me asking—"

"I'm not talking about it."

"Very well."

Since Jenny was still mad at her, Abbie found herself making her own dinner.

"Will you two be at the bakery this weekend?" he said.

"No. Jenny will probably be at home. I'll be out of town."

"Are you going on vacation? Perhaps some place warm?"

"I wish. I'm going to Georgia for a funeral. Someone close to me died a few weeks ago."

"I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Mills. You have my deepest condolences."

"Thank you."

He wiggled his fingers. "I hope this isn't too forward. However, I pray you will have safe travels and a safe stay."

She smiled and wanted to grab his hand or pat his arm to reassure him. That would be inappropriate, especially with the trolley turning the corner. The riders had to notice their interactions by now. No one said anything if they did. Her and Crane couldn't forget themselves. It was easy to do that.

Abbie could only give him her word. "I will."

* * *

It was early Friday morning. The trip was roughly 14 hours, so they had to depart around 3a.m. to get there by evening. Though Jenny was still asleep, Abbie went into her room anyway. She wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. That was her sister. She shook her.

"What? What time is it?"

"Early. I'm about to go. See you in a couple of days."

Jenny pulled the covers up to her ear.

Abbie sighed at her stubbornness. "I'll call you, okay? Love you."

She kissed her hair and left her room. With her suitcase, she waited by the door, hoping Jenny would run from her room, hug her tight, and worry over her being gone so long for the first time. That didn't happen, so Abbie left, thinking of Jenny's closed door.

* * *

Mr. Sam decided to sit behind her and Mrs. Ann. He wanted to let them have their "lady time" as he put it. Mrs. Ann called him an old fool, and he just laughed, said he was her fool.

"That you are," she said.

Abbie learned more about Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam during their train ride. Mrs. Ann was a nurse while her husband was an English teacher. Both of them were from Georgia and moved to Sleepy Hollow seven years ago. They wanted to settle in the city, but it was too expensive and hectic. Sleepy Hollow was quieter. Stella moved with them after they got comfortable enough. Her parents and younger brother planned to move to Sleepy Hollow, too, but they could only afford to send Stella at the time. They were saving more money to move for good.

"They still plan to come here, even more so now." She paused. "Sam and I wanted better opportunities for ourselves. That's why we left. The South was nothing but stifling, horrific. I've seen things, sugar. Worse things down there than up here."

"I'm not so sure. I've seen things, too. Up here."

"What have you seen, honey?"

She stared out the window, thinking about her family's welts of pain. "Too much."

Mrs. Ann squeezed her hand, said something that reminded her of Mama, "It'll be okay, baby. It'll be okay."

She believed her.

* * *

It was evening by the time they arrived in Georgia. The weather was bearable. Not as chilly as New York. Stella's parents greeted them at the train station. Her mom, with lovely dark brown skin and a petite figure, hugged them all and thanked them for coming. Her dad, tall with full lips, did the same.

"You can call me Ella, Abbie. This is Carter." She grabbed his hand.

"Stella said only nice things about you. We're glad you're here."

"Everyone's at the house. I know y'all are hungry," Ella said.

"We could eat," said Mr. Sam. "You made your sweet potato pie, Carter?"

"You know I did."

"My man."

They laughed while Ella and Mrs. Carter shook their heads. They were kind of like Corbin and her dad. Abbie smiled.

As they drove through town, Abbie saw the "Colored Only" and "White Only" signs plastered on diners, movie theaters, grocery stores, gas stations, and every public facility she could think of. It was impossible to forget herself here. Her place was shown to her in every building she saw. Crane's scarf knotted around her neck itched; she untied it.

"You okay, honey?" Mrs. Ann said.

They three of them were scrunched in the back seat. Abbie was in the middle.

"Just a little warm."

"It's an adjustment, I know." She squeezed her hand.

"Yeah," she said.

* * *

Cars lined down the sidewalk in front of their home. Some of their relatives ate on the front porch, holding their dinner plates in their laps and setting their cups next to their feet. They sat in plastic, black folding chairs. Stella's parents introduced her to everyone outside and inside. Cousins and in-laws hugged and kissed them, joked with Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam. Though their luggage was still in the trunk, Ella and Carter showed them their rooms for the weekend. Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam will stay in the guest room while Abbie will sleep in Stella's.

"I couldn't possibly," she said. "It's not my place."

"We insist," Carter said.

"You have no idea how crazy Stella was about you," said Ella. "She wouldn't mind in the slightest. You showed our baby girl the strength she didn't know she had. Thank you, Abigail."

Ella hugged her and went to the bathroom for tissue. Carter followed. Abbie stepped into her room. It was blue, like her ribbon. Trophies and 1st place certificates draped a shelf on her wall. There was a photo of her riding a horse on her dresser. Another was with her friends at a park, one at prom in a blue strapless dress, and one as a little girl with two missing teeth, smiling on a tire swing. Abbie didn't deserve to sleep in her room, didn't deserve to even be here really.

"Don't blame yourself, sugar. They don't."

"How do you know I—"

"I thought it was my fault, too. I let her go to your class." Mrs. Ann sat on the bed. "Maybe if I hadn't, she'd be here. I'm tired of losing our family, our friends, our community at the hands of white people. There's nothing we can do to protect our own."

"Are you afraid someone may come for Stella's parents and brother?" She sat beside her.

"I am, sugar. They don't deserve this, especially Stella. She was defending her brother, trying to keep him safe. And the way that cop…" She covered her mouth and cried. Then she breathed deep. "My sister lost her baby. I lost my niece. You lost a student. That cop was vile. We know he won't get arrested. That's how it is."

Abbie didn't tell her it would be okay, but she did squeeze her hand.

* * *

They joined the rest of the family downstairs. Abbie stuffed herself with fried tilapia, creamy potato salad, crispy and lightly salted fried okra, molten mac and cheese, and chilled coleslaw. She drank sweet iced tea from her cup. For dessert, she relished in a slice of homemade of sweet potato pie. It's buttery, crunchy crust and cinnamon-y, sugary, nutmeg-y orange filling was something she couldn't forget. The red velvet cake was more than heaven. It was moist and the smooth cream cheese icing made her stomach cozy. Bits of pecans stuck between her teeth, but she didn't care.

"You've never had cooking like this before, have you?" Mr. Sam said.

Abbie laughed. "I'm not telling. It was amazing, I'll say that."

She wasn't about to pick between her Mama's cooking and theirs. Not at all.

She had a good time with Stella's family. One of her uncles shamelessly flirted with her while everyone else laughed at him and said he didn't have a chance. Her little cousins showed her a new hand-clap game and she braided a doll's hair. She taught some of her relatives a few self-defense moves while they showed her how to do Chubby Checkers' twist. She and Jenny didn't have a big family. They didn't know their cousins or aunts or even their grandparents. It was just them and their parents. She enjoyed this, liked the snug and comforting feeling of relatives.

After a while, she excused herself to call Jenny.

"Hey," she said. "I'm here. Got in a couple of hours ago."

"Good. Are you okay down there?"

"Yeah. Her family's very kind."

Not to mention they can cook their asses off, but she still wasn't picking who was better.

"Cool."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine up here."

"I'll be home Sunday evening."

"Okay. Stay safe. I'm about to head to bed."

"I think I will, too. Big day tomorrow."

"How are you feeling with that?"

She sighed. "It hasn't hit me again, you know?"

It helped being surrounded by people who loved Stella. The pain wasn't as bad. She wasn't alone. When their parents died, they didn't get a full house of people. It wasn't quite this many, but it was enough to soothe her for the moment. They could just be and remember all the quirks of Mama and dad and remember the importance of loving.

"Call me if you need me."

"I will."

Speaking with Jenny felt different. This wasn't them. They joked and had fun. But this was detached, like a crab leaving its shell behind. She wanted her sister back. But she didn't know how to get their relationship back to what it was. She had a feeling it would get worse.

"Jenny—"

"I don't want to talk about library guy."

"I already told you it's—"

"Abbie, we're not talking about this."

She sighed, decided not to argue. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

Abbie sat down at the table again with Mrs. Ann, Mr. Sam, and Stella's parents. Everyone else began to leave, hugging them and taking to-go plates before they did so.

"What's going on with May?" Mr. Sam said. "The whole family's been talking about her."

Carter sighed. "Rumors."

Ella said, "I hope so. She knows that dangerous."

Mrs. Ann shook her head. "I don't approve one bit, honey. I pray it's not true. Does she know what will happen to her? Even rumors are enough to start trouble around here. We don't need that."

"Who is she?"

"She goes to Ella and Carter's church sometimes and lives in the neighborhood over," Mrs. Ann said. "She frequents this grocery store in town often. There's a white clerk who works there. Some people say they've seen the two flirting, that he's given her a few items free of charge. Someone else said they saw her pass him a note or two. I don't know how much of this is true. May is smart. She knows better than to even get tangled in this. No one is sure how long this has been going on."

Abbie thought about Crane and their small talks, their tangling. And that fear slithered in her chest and belly for what could happen to May, to her.

* * *

Breakfast was quiet. What could be said? Stella was gone; today was her funeral. Her family has to live without her. Abbie couldn't do anything.

The parking lot was already crowded. People stood in line outside the church, wearing their Sunday's best and scarves. They held crumpled tissues, sniffed, and wiped their faces. Abbie stood in line behind them. Before they left, Ella and Mrs. Ann insisted she sit with them, but Abbie refused. They let her be. Guests let Stella's family make their way to the front. Two ushers opened the doors; the line began to move.

Ella kissed her cheek and cried on her daughter's chest. Carter kneeled in front of her casket to pray over her. Her little brother put a toy next to her and wiped his face. His parents said he was handling it the best he could, but of course he was traumatized by the event and had nightmares. He was consoled by Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam, who stared and cried hand in hand.

Abbie didn't cry when she got to the front; she couldn't feel anything as she viewed her body. Stella was dressed in blue, from her ribbon to her bracelet to her dress. Her curly hair hung over her shoulders. She was beautiful. Still. There was bruise on the side of her forehead. She excused herself to the bathroom, where she cried and gagged like in the school room. Her legs shook, so she sat on the toilet seat. She could've even fathom what her parents felt. How were they still standing? Still so strong? How did she and Jenny even survive without their parents? She recited a small prayer for them before returning to the sanctuary.

Everyone left blue daisies on her casket at the grave site. The pastor said a prayer; her mother sung. Family members shared stories about Stella like they did in church. Abbie walked to the front with her flower.

"I've taught Stella for three years. She was such a lovely girl. Sometimes clumsy." They smiled, laughed, nodded their heads. "But she had passion and drive. That's what I respect most about her. Mrs. And Mr. Nelson, I'll never know your grief. I'm so sorry this happened to her and to your family." She laid the flower on the casket and took her seat.

At times, Abbie considered Stella as her other younger sister, someone else to look out for. She couldn't keep Jenny safe that night, so when she met Stella, Abbie believed she protected her by giving her the tools to take care of herself. She tried to protect all the women through teaching. But like with Jenny, she failed Stella, too.

* * *

The ride back was quiet until Mr. Sam said, "Lord, have mercy. That can't be…"

"Jesus," Mrs. Ann put her hand on her chest. "May."

Abbie couldn't unsee her. A rope wrapped around her neck. Her body lightly swung next to another, a man. Both of them beaten and branded. Her stomach slashed open. A tiny body beneath her feet.

Pieces of Abbie splintered. Her arms and legs rattled. Her eyes blurred and blurred. Fear slithered in the nooks of her bones and the corners of her spirit.

Someone gripped her. Her head was on something soft. She smelled breathy peppermint. Barely heard a voice.

"I've got you, sugar."

And then she fell into the black.

* * *

She woke up in Stella's bed with a cool towel on her head.

"Glad to see you're awake, darling. Made you some tea," Mrs. Ann sat in a chair next to the bed. "You went into shock."

She didn't want to remember them, yet their ghosts wouldn't leave her. They clutched and clutched. Just like her parents. Just like Jenny's brokenness. Just like Stella. She wept for them. For the loved ones she lost and couldn't save. For the brutalized couple and their love that was choked and quieted. She wept for the friendship she couldn't have with Crane.

"You've been through it, I know, baby." Her arms secured around Abbie again. "You've had to be strong, haven't you? Just be now, baby. Just be."

* * *

In the late evening, she woke up again. She smelled fried chicken and cabbage and other dishes. Heard multiple voices downstairs and records playing. It was only her in the room, with covers up to her chest and a cup of steaming tea on the nightstand. Crane's scarf was swathed around her neck. She took it off, refusing to take comfort in it and in the idea that Crane was a genuine, sincere white man. She didn't believe they could be acquaintances or good pals, lovers even, especially after…. When she finished folding his scarf, she was supposed to tuck it in her suitcase and never wear it again. Instead, she found herself playing with its fringes.


	9. Knock

Am I the only one who sees Viola Davis as Mrs. Ann? Lol Thank you to Simplytheworst and VocalVixen for the ideas in this chapters. :) Warning: There is mention of the n-word and mentions of lyching. Also, I just created my own website called storiesbyannierra. If you enjoy my fanfic, then perhaps you may like my other writing as well. You can also follow my site's Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram accounts by the same name. Thank you all so much for reading my Ichabbie fanfic from the very beginning. Your support means a lot. :) The chapter may sound like an ending near the end, but there is more to come. Also, I will be updating Hall Pass really soon. It's not typical Ichabbie, I know, but I hope you'll also be a part of that story with me. :)

* * *

There was a knock on the door as Abbie stuffed the scarf in her suitcase. More than likely it was Mrs. Ann.

"Come in."

"Hey, sugar. I thought you might be hungry. How you feeling? Everyone's been worried about you downstairs." She walked in with a plate wrapped in foil. She put it on the nightstand.

Abbie sat on the bed. "I'm fine now. Thank you for being there."

She smiled. "You are just like me sometimes. Too prideful for your own damn good."

"I can't you let you spoil me. You've already done more than enough, which I really appreciate."

"Let someone else take care of you, honey. It's okay. I've had to learn that, too." She found a spot beside her. "That was your first time, wasn't it?"

Abbie swallowed, trying get rid of the swinging bodies and the small bundle below their feet. They stayed with her.

"I know, baby, I know. Come here." She patted her lap.

Abbie laid her head on Mrs. Ann's thighs while she brushed back her hair and hummed.

"My Mama used to do this. You remind me of her."

"She raised a strong, smart, and beautiful daughter."

"Thank you. I don't know how I would've made it this weekend without you, Mrs. Ann."

"I'm here for what you need, Abigail."

She let herself get taken care of.

* * *

Abbie and Mrs. Ann joined the rest of the family members and family friends downstairs. People still arrived. As Abbie rewarmed her plate in the oven, Stella, Carter, and Mr. Sam gave her hugs and asked how she was. She was a little embarrassed by all the attention, told them she was slowly trying to process it. They understood.

While her food cooled, she called Jenny.

"How was today? How are you feeling?"

"It was...alot. I'm pretty overwhelmed."

She wouldn't tell her sister about "them." Jenny didn't need to be worried about her.

"I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Abbie wanted to return to their crammed apartment that smelled like sugar and seasonings. She wanted to hug her sister as tightly as she could and gorge herself on her peppered meatloaf and sweet bread.

"Me, too. How was your day?"

"Pretty quiet. Corbin called to check in."

"Did he say when you can go back to the shop?"

"He said to lay low for a couple of weeks."

Jenny baked from home and sold cakes and cookies when this happened. Corbin had another worker, Eric, pick up and deliver her goods to the shop. He also sent him with Jenny's pay for the week. Each time Jenny baked, she had tons of leftovers. She sold them to their neighbors, who greedily bought all she had.

"You're going to make me puffy again."

The downside of Jenny baking was the temptation. Once Abbie tasted one cookie or a small piece of cake, that was it. She ate so much that she gained started to gain weight. Abbie joked that it was puffiness instead of new fat.

Both of them giggled.

"I miss you, Jenny."

"I miss you, too."

"Be home tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay."

They said goodbye and hung up.

Jenny was all Abbie needed right now.

When she sat down, the chatter at the table hushed.

"Why so quiet?"

No one looked at her.

"We were talking about May is all," Mrs. Ann said.

"You don't have to stop because I'm here."

Yes, she was traumatized, but she had to know her story. She had to acknowledge her, to say her name.

"We don't want—"

"Tell me about May, Mrs. Ann. Please."

She sighed, shook her head. "They were together for five months. She was pregnant for four of them. Some people at the store had been watching their encounters. They looked a little too friendly. Word got around. A group of whites took them from their homes last night, and…They brought their bodies here to our neighborhood afterwards to make them an example. "

Abbie wasn't hungry anymore. She saw their bodies again, the ropes, the tree, their b—. She excused herself to the bathroom. Mrs. Ann stood in the doorway as she rinsed her face in the sink and touched her stomach to keep it still.

"I'm fine."

"What did we just talk about, honey?"

She breathed deep, used the toilet lid as a seat. "It's a lot to take in. That's all."

Mrs. Ann stepped in and closed the door. She lowered herself in front of Abbie, lifted her chin, like Mama used to do.

"Can I ask you a question, Abigail?"

Her tummy would not cooperate. Her palms dampened. Her breath quickened. She nodded.

"Are you involved with a white man back home?"

Mama's intuition was sharp. She knew when something was wrong. Abbie never lied to her. Mrs. Ann had that sharpness, too. Lying to her wasn't right, especially after she's been nothing but kind to her. Abbie wasn't involved per se, but her and Crane did interact.

"Not so much like May. We do work together. Mostly, we talk when work is over for the day. He's given me things: a scarf, a book, a handkerchief. There's nothing going on."

"Abigail."

"I know. It's not safe. There are consequences. I don't have any more intentions to engage with him, even more so after….I can't. Plus, I have my sister to worry about."

Mrs. Ann hugged her. "Oh, sugar, if this world were different, then you two could be what you wanted to be. But we know it ain't. Not one bit." She let her go. "You don't need to be nowhere near him outside of work. Since I'm not your mama, I can't tell you what to do. I just don't want you or your sister in any trouble. You hear, Abbigail?"

She nodded again.

"Now, let's get something in your belly. You have to eat."

* * *

After filling herself with fried foods and pecan pie, playing a round of spades, and dancing in the living room, she laid in bed. She was extremely sad about May, her family, her lover, and their love child. That sadness, their grief swirled in her bones. There was nothing she could do. Nothing. She couldn't imagine the weight of their loss. Was her mother brought to her knees and weeping when the mob forcibly took her daughter from her home? Was her father begging and begging for them to take him instead? What about her siblings, if she had any? Did they shake with stones of fear as they watched their sister being snatched away? What about her lover's parents? What did they do? Did both pair of parents cry out and stand in front of their children's bodies and a secret grandchild they'd never know? Abbie could only guess how much that severed them.

She wanted to sleep, to forget. Each time she closed her eyes, their battered forms stood in front of her. There was no escape.

Abbie heard another knock and opened her door.

"Hey, sugar. How do you feel?"

"I can't sleep." She shut the door.

Mrs. Ann nodded, pulled her to the bed. Like earlier, they took their spots, and Mrs. Ann said, "Come here."

Abbie put her head in her lap. Her fingers in her hair lulled her.

"It'll be a while before you can sleep the same again. It took me a minute, too. I couldn't do anything but try to adjust. I spoke to my husband a lot. He told me about happy times. You don't plan on telling your sister, do you?"

"No."

"She younger than you?"

"Yeah. Only by two years. I still protect her when I can."

"I understand. You come to me if you need me."

Abbie nodded.

"Sam always sung to me when I couldn't sleep. Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

She sung about the sun and the stars and the moon. About rain and oak trees. The song seemed endless. Then Abbie found herself dozing off.

* * *

They woke at 2a.m. to catch their train. Ella and Carter cooked them a big breakfast before they left and gave them hug after hug before they finally bordered the train. They told Abbie she could come back anytime. Not to mention they sent all three of them off with food and other goodies for a couple of days.

She made small talk with Mrs. Ann, but most of the trip was spent trying to sleep. After Mrs. Ann left her room, she couldn't rest the same. May came back.

Mrs. Ann wrapped her tight in her arms outside Abbie's apartment.

"Come by if you need anything, darling. Even if it's for a visit."

"I will. Thank you, Mrs. Ann." She hugged her again and then Mr. Sam.

"Don't forget about us," he said.

"I won't."

He nodded, and they went upstairs to their apartment.

When Abbie walked in, she found Jenny in the kitchen, mixing a sweet. Dad's record player was on. Jenny danced and sung. Swayed her hips and bobbed her head. Abbie missed such a sight.

"I'm back."

Jenny jumped, hurried to lower the music. "Damn, can you warn me?"

"Come here."

They held each other.

"I've missed you," Jenny said.

"I've missed you, too."

It was nice to finally be home.

* * *

They sat at the kitchen table, over caramel cookies and milk. Abbie talked to Jenny about her stay: the food she ate, the family members she met, the fun she had, the funeral. She didn't mention May or bring up Crane again. They weren't going to argue on her night back. Jenny wished she could have gone to Georgia under better circumstances. Abbie agreed. After they finished catching up, Abbie showered, unpacked, and headed for bed while Jenny baked the rest of her sweets for pickup tomorrow morning.

She tried to fall asleep in her own bed, but she couldn't. May and her beloved showed up again. She sighed, left her room, and knocked on Jenny's door.

"Are you okay?" she said.

"Can I sleep with you?"

She nodded and let her inside. They snuggled under the covers, held hands.

"What's wrong?"

"Stella's funeral has really got to me. Can I stay here for a few nights?"

That was half the truth, she knew. Telling Jenny about May would scare her and make her concerned about Abbie even more.

"Of course."

When their parents died and when Jenny returned home that night, they shared a bed for weeks. They were all the comfort they had.

Abbie felt like she could relax, like she wouldn't see them when she slept, like bad things wouldn't happen to her and Jenny.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

She kissed her forehead. "Sleep without a care then."

She did.

* * *

"What time is Eric coming by?" Abbie gulped the rest of her juice.

He was a black man, an accounting major, and helped Corbin with the bakery's annual report, filing taxes, payroll, etc.

Jenny pushed her cereal bowl away. "He should be here in about an hour."

There was a knock.

"I'm not expecting anyone. Could that be him?"

They both went to the door. Jenny opened it.

"Eric? You're here early. Is everything okay?"

"Something happened at the shop. It's been vandalized."

Abbie thought her breakfast would come up. "Are Joe and Corbin okay?"

Eric nodded.

Jenny hurried to grab their coats.

"No one tried to hurt you either?"

Abbie checked him over for any bruises. He didn't have any.

"I'm fine."

They slung on their coats, grabbed the desserts, locked up, and hopped in Eric's car. Abbie didn't speak to Jenny on the ride over. She grabbed her sister's hand and felt the rumbling anxiety in her chest. The only reason his shop was vandalized was because of what happened when that white lady came in that day. She patted Jenny's hand in hopes that it would be okay, that it wasn't as bad as it sounded.

But it was just as bad. The display window was broken. Corbin swept a brick onto a dust pan as Joe held out a trash bag. There were other bricks on the floor. One of them even broke the glass in the display case near the register. They carefully walked inside. Jenny followed Eric to the back to get another broom and dust pan and set the pastries down.

"What happened, Corbin?" Abbie stood in front of him.

He didn't look at her. "I'm taking care of it, kid. You and Jenny don't need to be here."

She took the broom from him.

"Tell me."

He sighed, wiped his beard. "We were in the back when we heard the commotion. There was note attached to the brick."

"What did it say?"

"I'm taking care of it."

"Corbin."

He sighed again, pulled the note from his back pocket, and handed it to her.

"Get out of town nigger lover or else," it said.

He took it from her. Numbness covered her feet, legs, arms, shoulders. Stella. May. Now, Corbin and his shop. There would never be peace. What could she say? What could he say?

"This is not you or Jenny's fault, Abbie."

She didn't believe him. "You three could've been killed."

"Your job is not to protect me, Joe, or Eric. I promised your parents I'd watch after you two. That's what I intend to do. Don't worry about us. I'm more concerned with you and your sister."

"Jenny won't be able to come back to the shop, will she?"

"No. It's only for safety. Don't worry about her job. I'll be certain she's taken care of. She'll just have to work from home. I'll make sure Joe and Eric are safe, too. I'm going to close the shop for a couple of days, at least until we can prepare the damage. I'll sell from my cart."

She was relieved to know Jenny would still have income, but she didn't like that everyone had to be on their guard even more. In fact, she wanted Corbin to close the shop completely and thought to tell him as much. There wouldn't be a point though. He was stubborn. He wasn't about to let anyone run him around.

"Thank you, Corbin. Be careful."

He patted her shoulder. "We will, kid. We will."

She had forty-five minutes to get to work. Until then, she stayed to clean up. They weren't expecting a customer to walk in, since the display window was ruined. Normally, that was a sign to steer clear. Someone didn't get the warning.

"My goodness. What on earth occurred?"

Abbie looked up to Crane, with his mouth agape and head twisting in all sorts of directions. She didn't really know how she'd handle seeing him again when she returned. He'd want to talk to her, ask her about Georgia and its ripe peaches and its Southern charm and cuisines. She figured she'd tell him once and for all that they couldn't be friends, that this would be the last discussion they had.

Corbin gave him a run down. "Is everyone alright? I'm terribly sorry this has happened to your shop, sir. If there is anything I can do to help, please do not hesitant to ask."

"Well, in that case, grab a broom. Some by the register."

She met his eyes. He briefly nodded and smiled. She didn't respond and just swept. Jenny returned with more trash bags. She stopped walking when she noticed Crane, who gave her the same greeting. Jenny also ignored him and flicked her eyes toward Abbie. Her attention was still on her broom.

Abbie was able to still leave for work on time. She said goodbye to everyone in the front, except Crane. Jenny wouldn't bother to acknowledge at her when she walked toward her. Abbie huffed and turned her back.

She stood outside for the trolley. At first, she was alone. That was until she saw Crane stand beside her. He tried to smile at her again, and his eyes glanced at her bare neck, where his scarf should've been. She turned her head in the other direction. Yet, his eyes still curled into her skin, even as the trolley pulled up, even as she hopped on, even as he couldn't see her the further she went.

* * *

Of course, she avoided him as much as she could at work. If they crossed paths, she kept her eyes down and hurried off. After her parents and what happened with Jenny, Stella, May, and Corbin's shop, there was no way her and Crane could even think about a friendship. It wasn't possible with the world they lived in. She could die. He could even die. Her sister could die. There were so many glaring reminders.

When the library closed and it was only the two of them, Abbie sensed him staring at her again, asking what his lips wanted to: why wasn't she speaking to him?

She didn't look at him. "Crane. We can't be friends or acquaintances. We saw what happened."

Her mind flitted to May and Stella again. The shop.

"You are correct. As I stated before, I would never want to put you, or your sister even, in harm's way. I won't ever deny your safety for my own selfishness. Unfortunately, it seems as though our communication must forcibly end. I did rather enjoy our discussions." He paused. "You may keep my book."

She finally looked at him. "I wish things were different, Ichabod."

"As do I, Abbie. As do I."

She kept her gaze on him, remembering the dark navy in his jacket, his dancing fingers, his lean posture, his thin lips, his brown beard and kind blue eyes, his honey voice. She thought of what she wanted them to be if they had the chance. They'd probably argue a lot of over Romeo and Juliet, compete in chess, one-up the other with witty responses.

"We would've been quite the pair." She smirked and heard the trolley.

He smiled at her. "I'd say so."

* * *

Dinner wasn't on the table when she got home. She sighed, knowing Jenny was mad again. Other than convince her nothing was going on with Crane, there was nothing else Abbie could do. Jenny didn't have a choice but to trust her.

After she ate and showered, she knocked on Jenny's door. They didn't speak when she opened it. Jenny stood aside to let her come in. They didn't hold hands under the covers. Jenny didn't kiss her forehead and tell her to sleep well. All she did was turn her back. Abbie got half of sleep that night.


	10. 24th Street

I know I haven't updated in a while. Here are some chapters to hold you over. :) Some of this chapter was a tad bit inspired by Toni Morrison's "Beloved". Hope you like it.

* * *

"You're not freezing yet, old man?" Abbie walked up to Corbin's dessert cart.

The repairs for his shop weren't quite finished yet, so he sold cookies, cupcakes, and hot chocolate in the park for an hour during the week and on the weekends. She stopped by after her self-defense class.

"Just about. My time's almost up." He handed her a cookie and a cup of hot chocolate. "How you doing, kid?"

"I'm hanging in."

In the last couple of weeks, she tried not to feel so lonely and tired. May and Stella continued to haunt her. Jenny still refused to talk to her. She didn't speak to Crane anymore. When she tried to visit Mrs. Ann, she was either on an errand or tending to last minute emergencies at the hospital where she worked. She didn't really have anyone to talk to.

He patted her shoulder. A small line started to form, so Abbie thanked him for the cocoa and treat and excused herself. She found a bench and took out _Romeo and Juliet_. Of course, it was cold; she was sure to wear Crane's scarf. Children and adults ice skated on the small lake in the middle of the park. Snowballs flew. Couples built forts and walked their dogs. The squeals, laughter, and small chatter that tickled her ears faded as the words from the book distracted her. Her reading didn't last long because someone called her name.

She glanced up to see Eric, holding hands with a woman. A white woman with brown hair. She tried not to stare too long.

"Hey," she said. "Funny meeting you here. How are you?"

"I've been well. Grad school is almost over. I'm pretty relieved about that."

"I can imagine. Accounting, right?"

He nodded.

"And this is…?"

He blushed. "Abbie, this is Sarah. We have courses together. Sarah, this is Abbie. She helps at the shop sometimes."

"It's nice to meet you." Sarah smiled and stuck out her hand.

Abbie shook it. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"I'm freezing out here and could use some hot chocolate. I'll let you two catch up."

"I'll have one, too." He gave her a five dollar bill. "Help yourself."

She kissed his lips. "Okay. Be back."

When she walked off, he sat on the bench beside her. Their open affection surprised her. How did they do it?

"You're visiting Corbin, too?" he said.

"Yeah. I wanted to check on him. Sarah seems nice."

She was curious about their relationship, but she didn't want to pry into his personal life.

"She's great. We've been dating for a month. We began as friends at the start of the term this year."

"What's it like?"

Did they receive unkind stares and gasps as they walked down the street in their boldness? Were they threatened from strangers, classmates, and teachers? What did their parents think?

He stared at his hands. "It's not easy. People have said things, done things even. It takes courage."

Abbie saw May, her lover, and the baby beneath their feet. They loved each other, but they suffered. Their families suffered. She didn't understand why Eric ignored the consequences.

"It's so risky."

"I love her. What more can I say?"

"Will you two survive?"

He eyed her book. "A classic, isn't it?"

"It is. They died. What's your point?"

"They loved each other in the flesh and in death. Love is persistent. You endure because of it."

"You sound like my Mama."

"Your Mama sounds wise."

"She was."

Eric stood as Sarah approached them with two cups of hot cocoa.

"Thanks, sweetheart." He kissed her cheek.

"You two stay warm out here. It was a pleasure meeting you, Sarah."

"Thank you, Abbie," she said. "You as well."

"We're going to go for a stroll. Enjoy the rest of your day," he said.

"I will. Same to you."

She observed them from behind her book. They squeezed hands and smooched cheeks, laughed and whispered in the other's ear. She watched the people around them. A woman glared while a couple gawked and hurried away. And she didn't even see the worst of it today. They stood in the face of disapproval. She wondered where she'd find her own courage, her spine.

* * *

Though Jenny snored beside her, Abbie wouldn't go to sleep. Not until she saw May and Stella standing beside her. They did that now: visited her, smiled even. She believed they found a little peace on the other side. Their family sure as hell hadn't as far as she knew. Her company never stayed long, only for a minute. After that, she slept. And then opened her eyes every so often to see if they'd reappear. They never did. Her own parents didn't haunt her like this. She doesn't know why they visit. When she saw them, she wasn't afraid. Just sad and angry. Sometimes, she cried herself to sleep. Other times, she frequently woke up during the night.

Of course, she didn't tell Jenny. For sure, her sister would believe she lost it. Abbie kind of felt that way. There weren't many people she could talk to about this, except for Mrs. Ann. She was so swamped with work that Abbie decided not to bother her unless it got too much.

Besides her friendly ghosts—that's what she jokingly calls them—Jenny's damn attitude didn't help her wake up on the right side of the bed either. The most they've said to each other was good morning and good night. When Jenny was mad, she was mad. For weeks sometimes. Abbie was just about sick of it. Soon enough, she'd confront her. Ask her what her problem was when her and Crane weren't even friends. At least not yet.

She thought about Eric and Sarah on the way home, how the word "courage" flinched in her chest like tousled wisps of grass from the wind. Is that what they felt before they died? Courage? She wanted to be friends with Crane, but she didn't know where her own bravery was. When May and Stella emerged, she swore their voices whispered to her: _Where was her spine?_

* * *

Abbie stood outside the library with Crane yet again. He smiled at her, wished her a good evening, and didn't say more like she wanted him to, like she wanted herself to. She wanted to know him, his kindness.

"There's an abandoned school room in my neighborhood. On 24th Street."

His mouth opened; he tried to find his wording. "Abbie, you do not—"

"I want to."

"If you are positive."

She felt her spine growing. "Meet me there."


	11. Schoolroom

As she paced the dusty classroom floor, Abbie's bravado and courage faded. She didn't know Crane. He's still practically a stranger. She's gone mad. That's what Mama would say. Let her instincts flutter. Mama would say that, too. Her head and her instincts wrangled.

"Hello? Miss Mills? It is I, Ichabod Crane."

She stepped into the hallway. Her dress squeezed her a little too tight. And her skin warmed. The walls looked like they shrunk or expanded. She couldn't tell which.

"Hi," she said.

"Hello."

Snow melted in his beard and on his blue coat. His fingers wiggled. His feet stayed seeded where they were. His eyes glanced above her head or at the flaky walls or on his black boots.

She listened to that flutter. _You can trust him_ , it said.

"Come in."

He followed her.

* * *

Abbie sat in a crooked-legged desk while Crane remained by the door.

"There are plenty of seats," she said.

"Yes, there are. I—Why—? Are you positive about this, Miss Mills?"

She nodded. "I want to be friends, too. I needed a safe environment though. No one ever comes in here, except me. Most people think it's haunted."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it were." He smirked. "I am curious to know its age."

She shrugged. "Older than me, I'm sure."

He touched the chalk board and the teacher's desk. "Thank you for inviting me, Miss Mills. It took me by surprise to say the least. However, I am very glad you took this chance, though you did not have to. You have my word that I will not disclose this location under any circumstances."

"Thank you, Crane. Was it hard getting here?"

"Not at all."

"Did people stare?"

"A few residents did, but no one bothered me. I kept my head down mostly as not to draw attention to myself." He smiled.

She laughed, shook her head.

"What is so funny?"

"Crane, you're as tall as a tree. How could you not draw attention?"

He took a seat. "I suppose you have a point there. How often do you frequent this building?"

"Every Saturday morning. I teach self-defense to women and sometimes little girls in here."

"That is a very admirable tool you are teaching to them. I'm certain they appreciate it."

She nodded. "I'm very grateful for my students. I think my class has gotten a little larger since…."

"Since what?"

She didn't want to tell him too much too soon, but she's already done the unthinkable by inviting him here.

"Remember I told you I was going out of town?"

He nodded. "Again, I am sorry for your loss." He started to cover her hand with his, but retreated. He fixed his buttons.

They didn't know each other, and yet Abbie said, "It's okay. I don't mind."

She wanted the comfort. Jenny hadn't offered any lately. It's been nearly impossible to talk to Mrs. Ann.

He squeezed her hand. "I'm terribly sorry."

"Her name was Stella. She was my student. Only twenty-one. We lived in the same apartment building." She recounted the rest.

His mouth opened and closed. His eyebrows did weird things. "Abbie."

She wiped her wet eyes. "It's not me you should pity."

He took out a handkerchief.

A laugh came from her as she cleaned her face with it. "You always carry these, huh?"

"Indeed." He paused. "How is her family?"

"They're hanging in. They miss her a lot."

He rubbed her back as she gathered herself. "Thank you for trusting me with your heartache."

"There's a shit more of it, but we won't get into it."

"You may take all the time you wish."

It felt good to talk to someone about it again, to release it. She needed that.

"Thank you for being here."

"It is my pleasure."

"And thanks for this. I threw the first one out the window." She giggled. "It's not funny, I know. I hope you're not offended. You really caught me off guard when you came to my defense. I didn't know whether you were being sincere or not."

"What do you believe now?"

She thought about his kindness: the scarf he gave her, the book he let her keep, the broom he swept with in Corbin's shop.

"I believe you."

"That means more than you know, Miss Mills. I will not break your trust. Unfortunately, we live in a society where barbaric acts and laws are implemented on your community, your people. I don't where mine get their goddamned nerve. It's more than appalling. On behalf of them, I'm—"

"Don't apologize for those racist fucks. Let's not even talk about them."

"Very well. Would you tell me more about your classes?"

She told him about her dad. How his presence filled their small apartment, how he taught her and Jenny self-defense, how he died.

"You've suffered so much loss, Miss Mills. You have remained strong throughout it."

"Sometimes, it brings me to my knees."

"I can only imagine. What about your mother?"

"She died, too." And she told him her Mama's story.

His eyes looked glassy, like he was about to cry himself. "I wish you didn't have to know such pain, Abbie."

"I'm a black woman, Ichabod. I knew pain before I was born."

It was passed down from woman to woman, from her broke-backed great great aunts, grandmothers, and cousins. Their fingers bled and crippled from cotton thorns and cotton picking on burning summer days. She couldn't even fathom the amount of ruddy, harsh lashes slave owners rived into their backs. Or the countless times they dreamed of running to freedom, to gold lands and full skies. Daughters were sold in the market, sometimes without the remembrance of their mother's milk or snug voice. Some daughters were lucky enough to swell in their mother's spirit and lullabies. Most often, black women ached alone. They nudged all of their strength into their husbands, their children, their relatives and friends. There was hardly any left for them. And so they ached into the night for a life that tasted like sweetwater and honey.

His hand circled her back again. What could he say?

"But I'm surviving and I'll keep on surviving."

Black women will keep on surviving.

"I do not want you to just survive with me while we are here and growing our friendship. It is my hope for you to be unbound, to laugh loosely, to sing joyously, even if it is only for a couple of hours."

She clinched the handkerchief in her hands and quickly found herself wiping her eyes again. She knew he meant it.

"Thank you, Ichabod."

"Would you mind?" He held his fingers near her cheek.

"No."

He dried the tears that were there, and then she gripped his hand, grateful. They listened to the snow fall.

* * *

After she gathered herself, she said, "I'm okay now. Thank you."

"It is my pleasure. I do not mind comforting you in the slightest." He paused. "Your parents would be proud."

"I hope so."

"Would you mind teaching me?"

"What?"

He stood up, took off his military coat. "I would like to learn self-defense, if you do not mind."

"Are you serious?"

"I am." His wiggling eyebrows made her laugh. "What stance shall I take?"

He held his hands up like he was about to karate chop the desk. She shook her head and stood in front of him, giggling.

"Not like that."

Abbie balled his hands into two fists and put them near his chin. She told him to widen his legs. And then she laughed.

"What is funny?"

"It's awkward to adjust your body. I'm used to working with women my size, not a six-foot man. You're so tall."

"All the better to see you, my dear."

"Or loose me in a crowd."

"I would never."

"So you say. My dad did that once. I was right beside him. Ok. You're in a front kicking position. The goal is to kick an attacker's knee as hard you can with the ball of your feet. It's less injury that way. Make sure you curl your tops up. In other words, point them to the sky. Now, go."

He kicked off.

"More force. I always tell my girls they have power and to use it. Use yours."

He kicked the air harder this time.

"Great. Try again. And watch your posture. Keep your balance." She straightened his back.

He kicked a few more times before she ended their lesson.

She smiled up at him. "You did well. We'll have to work on your balance. To be so tall, you're so clumsy."

"Under your instruction, I shall have the best balance there is."

"Damn right."

"You're a great teacher. Have you thought about doing this full-time instead of working at the library?"

"I have, but I would need to earn enough to make a living. Most of the women I teach can only come on the weekends. I'd have to find a better location than this school room, too. Somewhere in town maybe. I would love to teach every day though. I love my students."

"It shows. Thank you for the lesson. We'll have to have another."

"Definitely."

She wanted to see him more. They had to arranged times and days to meet, which she mentioned. They agreed to meet after work. Abbie would get on the trolley first and then Crane. They'd make small talk as they waited for the trolley, but nothing that looked too suspicious to others.

"Shall we exchange numbers? If one of us isn't able to meet during the week, I figured we could contact each other over the weekend ahead of time."

She grabbed a paper and a pen out of her bag. They scribbled down their numbers.

"I don't even know what time it is. I'm sure it's probably around 7ish. I should get home before it gets too late. I don't want my sister to worry."

"Of course. Thank you again for a lovely evening. Would you like to meet again tomorrow?"

She nodded, gathered her things.

"Abbie, would you be opposed to a hug? I know we hardly know each other. However, I would really like to comfort you if you ever need it. I'd—"

"Crane. The answer is yes." She chuckled. "You ramble when you're nervous."

She stepped closer to him. They embraced, with her head on his chest and his chin in her hair. She breathed a little easier in his arms. His pine trees and woodsy smell soothed her. Then she briefly felt his lips in her hair. It made the tips of her fingers and toes shiver.

"Rest well, Abigail."

"You too."

He cleared his throat. "Would you mind if I walked you to your apartment as well? I don't have to enter the building, of course. I only want to make sure you get home—"

"There you go again." She smiled.

He blushed.

"Come on. I don't live far. I'm literally across the street."

In a couple of seconds, they stood outside her apartment building.

"I had a lot of fun. Thanks for meeting me and for your support."

"It was an honor, Miss Mills." He bowed for her.

"Chivalrous, huh?"

"Very much so."

She shook her head, smiling once more. "I'll see you tomorrow, Crane."

"See you tomorrow, Miss Mills."

As she walked the two flights of stairs to her apartment, she thought about his hug that strengthened her, his words that cooled her, and his lips that tingled her. And when she got into bed, she rested well.


	12. Light

Hope you all enjoyed your Father's Day weekend. :) Thank you for reading this story. I'll post more tomorrow. :)

* * *

Abbie and Crane sat in desks in the schoolroom, munching on the extra sandwiches and sweet tarts Crane packed in his lunch for them.

"Did you make this?" Abbie said.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Yes. This is my mother's recipe. She loved to cook."

"My Mama loved to cook, too. Jenny took it up after she died. Helps her feel close to her. What happened to your Mama again? She was sick, right?"

She recalled he told her this that day he gave her his scarf. She wasn't really sympathetic for his losses then.

"Yes. Both of them were. They died from pneumonia."

She reached for his hand. "It's tough losing both parents. Do you have any siblings?"

"Unfortunately, no. I'm an only child. My mother had trouble conceiving me to begin with. She wasn't able to have any more children after I was born."

Abbie was grateful she wasn't alone in her grief. She had her sister; her sister had her. Crane had no one.

"How did you cope? Who did you talk to?"

"I talked to my best friend Abraham VanBrunt. He's more like a brother to me."

"I'm glad he was there." She finished the rest of her sandwich. "What were your parents like? I think you told me they used to read to you."

"They did, particularly plays from Shakespeare. They were quite dramatic. I believe working in theatre encouraged their antics. That's where they met." He smiled. "Mother made the grandest gestures and facial expressions while my father could easily transform his voice."

"The theatre can rub off on people, I've heard," she said. "My parents were silly, but sweet. They joked and laughed, danced around the kitchen. Mama was so witty. And dad had this deep voice."

She missed her parents, their bright black love.

"I believe mine have found peace. That's comforts me sometimes."

"I don't know if mine ever got that. The man who shot my father wasn't even put in jail. We never got justice."

Exactly like there was no justice for Stella or May or all of the other black Americans killed because of a white person in a white hood or in a blue police uniform or in regular clothes. The law would never them, never protect her.

His hand tightened around hers. "I'm—"

"You don't have to keep saying that. It's not your fault the world is fucked up."

He sighed. "I cannot fathom what that must feel like. I can only imagine how maddening and infuriating it must be for you."

It felt like stones stuck in her throat that suffocated her screams, her need for air, for release, for freedom. Everything in her fostered, and she couldn't let it out. It stayed in her gut, rattling and bumping around until one day it would come forth. She wouldn't stop it if it did.

"It is." She paused. "I wonder what our parents would think of this, of us being friends. How did your parents feel about black people?"

"Though I love my parents, they did not think or speak highly of black Americans. They barely interacted with them unless they had to. It still disappoints me to this day. It angers me, even. They hired a black maid once. She was the sweetest lady. Her name was Irene. She left caramels under my pillow. My parents terminated her position after she accidently knocked over my mother's favorite dish. My mother called her the n-word, and my father fired her. I never understand how they could treat a person that way. I was furious at them as a child, sad, but I never spoke to them about it until I was older. They were wrong. I told them as much. We never saw eye to eye since. My father disowned me. My mother tried to look past it."

"I'm glad you aren't like them."

His parents weren't shit to her.

"So am I. It seems rather ironic, doesn't it? I could have easily adopted my parent's small-minded views. You have every right to refuse my companionship, every reason to be skeptical of my intentions, especially considering what happened to your parents, your friend, and even Mr. Corbin's bakery. Yet, here we are, forging our own paths."

She nodded. "Here we are."

They finished their dinner in the quiet.

* * *

"I believe we've discussed enough of the heavy. Shall we continue our lesson?"

Abbie smiled. "We could use some light-heartedness. Up."

Crane wiggled out his coat, took the position he had yesterday.

"Remember: balance posture, power." She crossed her arms and sat on the teacher's desk to examine his stance.

He practiced the front kick.

"That was good, but don't look like you're about to play hopscotch."

He huffed. "I do not—"

She raised her eyebrows.

He stood straight while she walked from the desk. "Let's try this. I get my girls to practice on each other. One of them plays the role of the attacker; the other is the attackee."

"I couldn't possibly pretend to—"

"Crane. It's just for learning purposes. You won't hurt me. Ready?"

"Must we?"

"If you want to land this front kick, yes. Take your position."

He did.

"Now, I'm coming at you." She rushed to him. "Where will you put your foot?"

He boot gently landed on her knee.

"That's right. Try again. I know it probably feels funny, maybe a little silly. Your body isn't used to being in this position. Some of the girls were like that, too. It takes practice. Soon, the stances will click. You'll get it."

"You are an encouraging instructor."

"Thank you. Let's try an exercise. Stand on one leg. If you drop it, you start over."

"A drill sergeant, too."

She smirked. Her students called her that, too. When they complained or got smart with her, she added time to their warm-up exercises. "Five minutes."

"Five?"

"Ten."

He huffed, mumbled under his breath about boot camp.

"You want to make it fifteen?"

"No. What is the point of this, Miss Mills?"

"Balance. My dad made me and Jenny do this. I make my girls do this. I'm making you do this. It helps. Use your core. Breathe."

She stood on the side of him, placed one hand on the mid-section of his back. Her other hand touched his stomach. Though he was lean, there was strength in him.

"Take deep breaths." She demonstrated. Then inhaled and exhaled with him.

They looked at each other as they did so. She didn't know what she felt suddenly. There was a kicking in her, a thick drumming. With him, she believed they could face anything, that they could withstand segregation and lynchings and assassinations and their own shadowy lives and the darkened world that would swallow them without each other's light. His gaze told her that. And her eyes couldn't fall elsewhere.

Her voice was petite, close to a whisper. "Stop looking at me like that, Ichabod."

"Like what, Miss Mills?"

She cleared her throat. "Your breathing. Take your time."

He squirmed after a while.

"Are you ticklish, Crane?" She wanted to mess with him again.

"No."

Her fingers wiggled across his stomach. He lost his balance, laughed.

"You should run, Miss Mills."

And she did. He chased her around the classroom for a good five minutes. She slid desks in his way to deter him. It didn't work. Eventually, he caught up with her, held her to his chest. His fingers fidgeted down her waist. Her laughter vibrated off the rickety desk chairs. It felt good, free.

* * *

They ended up on the floor, breathless and light from their childish behavior. Both of them leaned against the wall.

"I miss laughing," Abbie said.

Things have been so heavy that she hadn't had any fun or relaxed.

"As do I, Leftenant."

"Leftenant?"

"Yes, as in lieutenant, as in that's what you remind me of when you instruct. You are powerful, fearless, fervent. I am in awe. You are beautiful in your element."

She didn't know whether to blush or giggle. "Thank you, Crane."

"You are welcome. I suppose we will continue our lesson tomorrow evening?"

"Yeah. With no distractions." She nudged his arm.

"We shall see what happens next." He helped her up.

They gathered their things and took the brief walk across the street to her apartment building.

"I will see you tomorrow, Leftenant."

She smiled at his silly nickname for her, shook her head. It was one she didn't mind though. "I'll see you tomorrow, Crane."

He bowed for her. She blushed, went inside, and prepared for bed. As she lay under her comforter, she wouldn't let herself admit what she wanted. She wouldn't admit she wanted his eyes to tell her they could withstand. She wouldn't admit she wanted his hands, his lips, and his tongue to tell her that, too.


	13. Cinnamon

We are getting there, y'all. I promise. :) I hope to have two more chapter up by the end of this weekend.

* * *

Abbie was excited about spending another evening with Crane and enjoyed their last two nights together. She liked learning about him, liked teaching him, and liked his cheekiness. His sincerity and consideration were her favorite qualities in him. It also didn't hurt that he was handsome.

They didn't interact in the library, but they shared glances and bumped shoulders in aisles that didn't have any company. As they waited for the trolley, they made small talk.

Once in her neighborhood, Abbie hurried into her apartment. She wanted to grab some blankets and _Romeo and Juliet_. Pack it all in a basket with some dinner or whatever she could quickly put together. She was relieved when she didn't run into Jenny, who was probably walking every floor of the building selling desserts. Their kitchen had turned into a bakery, with cream cheese Danishes piled in the fridge, with chocolate cookies overflowing in their jar, and with Mama's cinnamon rolls under a cake dish.

They still hadn't really talked much. And if she saw Abbie carrying a picnic basket and leaving, she'd ask too many questions. Before she left, she swiped a couple of cinnamon rolls, two plates and forks, napkins, and filled two thermoses with warm milk. She also included a wrist watch to keep track of time.

In the schoolroom, she unfolded the blanket and splayed it across the floor. It would get a little dusty, but she didn't much care. She set their plates and forks out as neatly as she could. While she waited for Crane, she made herself comfortable and skimmed the book. When he finally arrived, he said, "Oh. What have we here, Miss Mills?"

He took off his coat, hung it on a chair, and joined her on the floor.

"A picnic." She removed the plastic container with the rolls and the thermoses. "It's not much, I know."

"It's perfect." He kissed her hand. "Thank you, Miss Mills."

"Jenny had these extras, so I thought I'd steal a few."

They broke bread together.

"These are amazing."

"One of Mama's recipes. Corbin sells these, too."

"How is Mr. Corbin's shop coming along?" He poured milk in his little thermos cup.

"Last I heard, repairments weren't quite finished. He's been selling from his cart in the park. Jenny bakes, and Eric stops by for pickup. Joe helps sell, too. They've got a routine going."

"I hope his shop will be back to its pervious state. It is dreadful and terrifying that such a thing would occur. The audacity."

"There's been worse."

Churches, houses, schools, and shops have been destroyed by harsh licks of fire in black neighborhoods in the North and the South. These fires marked ash and burn scars in the brown skin of her neighbors and friends. It smeared them with death.

He squeezed her hand. "Yes, there has been worse. It is unfortunate. I am relieved that you and your sister, among Mr. Corbin and those associated with him remained unharmed."

"Me, too." She didn't want to talk about oppression, not here. "How was your day?"

"It was quite well. I've been looking forward to our meeting since I awoke this morning. Did you enjoy your day, Miss Mills?"

"I did. It was much like yours. I was excited for later, too. And you bumped my shoulder on purpose. Were you flirting with me, Mr. Crane?"

"Perhaps I was, Miss Mills." He kissed her palm. His beard made her prickly. His fingers skimmed the inside of her wrist. "Perhaps I was."

Her breath kept still; her eyes considered the blanket's corner. "You are something else, Ichabod Crane."

"Are you blushing?"

She took her hand away, held his eye. "Mills women do not blush."

That was Mama's excuse each time dad watched her smile at the floor and cover her cheek with her hand. He had such a silver tongue. Mama never admitted he got the better of her. Like mother, like daughter.

He smirked. "Your pride is showing."

"Your milk is getting cold." She put her plate and fork in the basket.

"It is, is it?"

"Yes. Finish up."

She wouldn't admit it. His ego was already big enough as it is.

He swallowed the rest of his drink and placed his own dishes inside the basket. Then he closed it.

"I see you brought my book."

"Thought maybe we could talk about it. I still hadn't finished it."

He picked it up. "Perhaps I shall read aloud?"

"I can read for myself, Crane."

"I have no doubt about it. When I heard stories read aloud, it relaxed me and put me to sleep even. I thought maybe it would relax you. You deserve to unwind."

She wouldn't mind listening to his voice. "Sure. I left off on Act 2, Scene 2."

"Ah. The balcony scene is one of my favorite moments."

He opened to that section, lowered his eyebrows. "I don't recall a balloon in here, Miss Mills. I take it you've been analyzing."

"Just a little. Mama wrote in her books. This is one of her favorite scenes."

Abbie told him about her mom's interpretation of Romeo and Juliet's relationship, about the balloon that symbolizes love, about the string her Mama told her to hold onto.

"Your mother is a bright woman, much like her daughter. I couldn't agree more. Their love proved mighty. Love gazes beyond another's dissimilarities and faults. It is constant and steadying."

"I'd say so. Shall we read?"

"We shall."

They scooted against the wall. As Crane read, Abbie rested her head against his shoulder. His voice was quieten, like rain blotching the windows and the rooftops. She let herself fall down in it.

* * *

"Miss Mills?"

She opened her eyes, found herself on Crane's chest rather than his shoulder. He had his arm wrapped around her. He closed the book and sat it in his lap.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"Do not apologize. You deserve rest."

She touched his cheek in thanks before reaching into the basket for the wrist watch. It said Cinderella's curfew. Abbie hopped up. "Shit."

"Is there something the matter?"

"I was supposed to have been home already. Jenny's probably losing her goddamned mind. She doesn't know I've been here to see you."

He stood up. "Well, in that case, let's get you home."

They quickly packed what was left.

"Thank you for tonight, Crane." She kissed his cheek.

"It is I who should thank you, Miss Mills." He bowed for her again.

"You are too much." She smiled. "If I hadn't dozed off, we would have had another lesson."

"It is quite alright. I feel as though my body could use a rest period."

"I hardly put you to work yesterday."

"Hardly? That's quite an understatement, don't you think?"

"I call that day one."

"I can only imagine what day two will bring."

"Keep up the sass and you'll be doing twice the exercise."

"Oh, goody."

"You have no idea, Crane."

"Is that so?" He intruded her personal space.

She wasn't backing down. "Yes."

He touched her cheek. There was that look again, the one that said the world wouldn't beat them only if they relied on each other for strength.

"Crane."

She wanted to savor the grains of cinnamon on his tongue. They'd probably be sweeter there than on the roll itself. She wanted his beard to scrape the side of her neck. She wanted his fingers to knot with hers. She wanted his lips to make her skin hum. She wanted to make him hum.

He nuzzled her nose. "Yes, Miss Mills?"

She inhaled his sweet breath and the silky letters that dripped from his lips, letting his essence crawl into her.

Her lips deftly swept across his. It was the smallest sip of him she'd allow herself. "I have to get home."

He dropped his hand, distanced himself. Her breath returned to her. She wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel it in her spine and shoulder blades, but they couldn't go there. Not even in an abandoned schoolroom. She hasn't even known him long, and here she was: falling and falling. There were consequences. May was proof. But then there were the brave hearts of Eric and Sarah. And maybe, _maybe,_ they could have what they desired if they fought hard enough.

"Let's get you home then." He gently took the basket from her, extended his arm.

She took it, and they sprinted out the schoolroom and across the street.

* * *

Jenny nearly knocked Abbie down when she ran into her with a hug.

"Where the fuck have you been? Are you fucking crazy?"

She knew her sister was crying, so she wrapped her arms around her tight.

"I'm so sorry, Jenny. I lost track of time. I was in the schoolroom."

"Doing fucking what?"

Abbie didn't want to lie, especially in the state Jenny was in. She's been in her position, knew what it was like to worry and wait. It was the worst feeling thinking her sister wouldn't return that night. If Abbie mentioned she really was entertaining Crane's company, there's no telling how Jenny would respond. They were already divided because of him.

She walked into the living room, sat the basket down. "I waited for a lady there. She wanted to learn self-defense, so we had a class. I packed us something to eat for afterwards. We started talking once we finished her lesson. Before we knew it, it was really late. I know I don't normally teach on weekdays, but she stopped me in the hall on my way to work this morning. She really didn't want to wait until Saturday. I should have left a note or something, but I was in a rush once I got back home. I'm really sorry, Jenny."

And she was. She never wanted Jenny to worry about her, to put her in such a shape. In all honesty, she didn't even think Jenny would care if she was gone for so long. They hadn't spoken in weeks. It was good to finally talk to her.

Jenny wiped her face. "Never do that to me again. You fucking hear me?"

"I do. I promise to leave a note next time." She hugged her and kissed her forehead.

"Are you meeting her again tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Same time. And probably the day after."

She sighed. "Alright then. Be careful."

"Always."

After they said goodnight and Abbie showered, she sat in bed, tracing her lips, nose, and palm. She wanted his lips. His tongue. His baritone words and his kindness slipping in her collar bones. The stony guilt came the same time her gentle desire did. Both of them battled. She didn't know which one to listen to, but as she went to sleep again, she knew which one stood.


	14. Alice

For Fandom Love (Mary). Happy belated birthday. :) And thanks to my agent (LOL), Vocal Vixen, for giving me feedback on this chapter. Thanks, girl! :)

* * *

"Was Miss Jenny waiting for you upon your return yesterday?" Crane said as he cut them pieces of loafed bread to dip into their cheddar and broccoli soup.

"Yeah. She was worried."

"I believe you mentioned she doesn't have any knowledge about our meetings."

"We disagree when it comes to you." She sipped lemonade out of a thermos.

"My apologies for interfering in your relationship. Would it be best if we didn't—"

"I want to keep seeing you."

"As do I, Leftenant. However, I do not want to come between you and your sister."

"I'll tell her." She traced his knuckles. "I don't want to hide from her. I've already lied."

Abbie explained the excuse she gave to Jenny.

"I'm so sorry our relationship has caused you to go to such lengths with your sister."

"It's not you, Crane." She paused. "Something really bad happened to her."

"If I may ask, what occurred?"

She breathed deep. "I'm really trusting you with this, Ichabod."

He knelt in front of her and held her hands. "I will not betray you, Abbie. You have my word."

She leaned her forehead on his for a brief moment to gather herself and the words she left crammed in her throat. Her and Jenny refer to it as "that night."

"Jenny was raped."

She told him how three to four white men stripped Jenny of her clothes, her virginity, her humanity, her spirit.

"I should have stayed with her, fought for her. She told me to leave. And I did. She wanted to protect me. I let them…" Guilt and sadness smothered her into crying.

Crane wasn't able to swallow his own tears, wasn't able to speak or reassure her. The horror of being a black woman weighed him down, too.

Her head fell in his shoulder. They wept for Jenny and for all the black women who couldn't breathe the stars and night air.

* * *

Crane wiped her face with a handkerchief before cleaning his own.

"I have no words."

"Sometimes words don't work or heal anything. All you can do is cry and let the pain settle. Live with it."

He thumbed her cheek. "You cannot blame yourself, Abigail. It is neither you nor Miss Jenny's fault. Those men are worse than vile. Hell isn't even adequate enough for what they've done."

"She came home broken. I've never seen her like that. She wouldn't go out for weeks. I'm grateful I still have her. Jenny's all I have."

"You love her with everything, and she loves you. There is nothing like the bond of a sister. I am most relieved she returned to you that night as well."

She nodded. "There are black women who don't make it home."

Crane shook his head and began to pace in front of her. "It's unbelievable."

She took his hands. "Definitely. Things are changing though. Slowly. People are fighting back. Finding that courage."

They touched foreheads again.

"Jenny is afraid you'll hurt me, treat me like she was treated. That's why we disagree. It's only because she cares."

"My heart goes out for Miss Jenny. I will not harm you, Abbie. You believe me, don't you?"

She fingered his beard. "I believe you, Ichabod."

He kissed her fingers. "Thank you, and thank you for sharing such a vulnerable story. I can imagine it was not easy. I'm very grateful you trust me. I hope I can prove to you I'm noting like those men. I do not believe what they believe or what my parents believe." He paused. "How is Miss Jenny faring now?"

"Her nightmares aren't as bad as they were. I don't think she's had any for a while now. If she has, she hadn't told me. She gets really anxious if I'm gone too long. She handles it the best way she can. She's surviving."

"I wish this hadn't happened to her, to you, or to the countless black women in your community."

She nodded. "But it does, and we have to find our strength afterwards. We have to breathe again."

"You shouldn't have to endure that."

"We're going in circles here, Crane." She sighed. "Can we talk about something else? Maybe finish eating and then have our lesson?"

He kissed cheek. "As you wish, Leftenant."

* * *

After they finished eating their cold soup, she taught him a couple more warm-up exercises. He spent the first ten minutes stretching, the next ten minutes standing on one foot, and the last ten minutes squatting. He leaned against the wall now, slightly sweaty. He took off his boots and loosened the first two buttons on his shirt earlier.

"These exercises are quite torturous. I haven't used this many limbs since grade school. How in the bloody hell will this assist me?"

"You are working on flexibility, balance, and strengthening your core and legs. Tired?"

"Indeed."

"You won't sass me next time, will you?"

He smirked.

"Don't look at me that, Crane."

"It is what a student does."

"Does my ass. Up." She helped him to his feet.

"What is on the agenda next, Leftenant?"

"That name is really growing on me."

"It is, is it?"

"Indeed." She giggled.

He raised his eyebrow at her.

"Alright. Now, let's practice your front kick. Then I'll teach you another move."

After she helped him improve his kick, he learned how to escape from a choke hold. They sat in the desks when they were done.

"Do your students remember these tactics?"

"Not all the time. I tell them it's okay if they don't. Some of what I teach can get a little complicated. The moves can involve more than one step. I try to keep it simple. And I review what I taught them in the previous lesson. Sometimes, I'll keep practice a longer if I really want them to know a certain defense technique.

"At the end of every lesson, I remind them of the most vulnerable places to strike an attacker if they don't remember all the moves. Go for the eyes, nose, throat, and groin. Scream. Kick. Scratch. Head butt, even. I tell them to use what they have to their advantage."

"The women in your neighborhood are lucky to have you as their instructor, though I can imagine a woman teaching self-defense doesn't come without criticism."

"I've gotten some push back from a few people, mostly from men, but even from some of the older women in my apartment. A woman doesn't need to resort to such violence to defend herself, they say. Some of them believe it is a man's job to protect a woman, that they should get a husband. I don't agree. My dad didn't raise me and Jenny like that. And considering what happened to her and considering that they are abusive husbands, every woman needs to know how to protect themselves."

"You are truly a woman ahead of your time."

"Thank you, Crane."

"Would you mind teaching me one more move?"

"You're studious."

"Well, I can't help but want to learn under your encouraging tutelage."

He got into position.

"I'll teach you how to block." She adjusted his hands. "Bend your arms. Keep them at an angle or like you're about to do the chicken dance. Keep your fingers straight. Let's say I'm going in for a punch, slap, or grab. It's a pretty wild swing." She enacted it, and he attempted to block her.

"Good. Don't look at what's coming. Keep your eyes on me."

She threw faster swings.

"You're doing—Hey!"

He surprised her with a tickle. She slowly distanced herself from him. And he crept towards her.

"This isn't a part of the lesson, Crane."

"Perhaps I like to be a mischievous student, Leftenant."

"Perhaps you're taking this opportunity as pay back."

"You stand corrected. I suppose you run while you are afforded the chance."

"You'll have to spar with me first. I'm not running. Let's see what you got."

"Do you think I'll win?"

"No."

He gasped. "Have you no faith in your students?"

"You've only had a couple of lessons. You can only do so much."

"We shall see who the victor is."

Abbie bounced on her feet and gently struck Crane each time he reached for her. They circled around and around, blocking, smirking, passing light licks. She knocked him to the ground. He grabbed her ankle as a counterattack, and she fell on top of him. There was nowhere she could go because he interlocked his arms around her. She squealed and squirmed. By the time she could breathe again, their positions were switched. He cleared his throat, pulled her up. They dusted themselves off in silence.

"You win," she said. "For now."

"For now, indeed."

He removed the dust that got caught in the ends of her hair.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." He put his hand on her cheek, moved closer. His let his forehead fall into hers again.

She breathed, skimmed his beard with her fingertips. Here they were. And here he was. Looking at her like they could take on world, despite Jim Crow and generations of slaves and burning crosses and swinging bodies on tree branches and "Whites Only" and "Blacks Only." He nuzzled her nose, said her name.

"There are consequences, Ichabod."

"There are no consequences here."

She wanted a taste of the boldness in his voice, so she pecked his lips. Warm. Salty. Abbie listened to his breathing, to the dust in the room, to her own vibrating heart. _Only_ _freedom here_ , it said. And her lips delved into his once more. Fully. Quickly. Her tongue churned in his mouth, and her fingers memorized his soft hair. His moans sunk down her throat, into her chest. She sighed as he scooped her up. Her legs tightened around his waist. As he bound her against the wall, he sucked and licked down her neck. Her lips recklessly folded into his once more. She wanted everything with him. _Everything._ Because they could withstand.

* * *

"I need to leave, Crane," she whispered.

But she was still here, kissing his nose, eyelids, cheek, fingertips, palm, wrist. He couldn't stop kissing her either.

"I shall escort you."

"As soon as you stop kissing me."

They lost themselves again before Abbie finally put him at arm's length. He downturned his mouth.

"Don't pout."

He reached for her again.

"Crane."

He pecked and nibbled her lips. "You are intoxicating."

"You are, too. However..."

She left a note for Jenny this morning before she left, but she wanted to make it home earlier than yesterday.

Sighing, he presented his arm to her and escorted her.

* * *

As Abbie snuggled beneath her sheets, she traced her lips. It felt good to kiss Crane, to be carefree and wild, to not worry about what they were doing or who would see. She liked having that freedom and opening up to him. He didn't judge her, never told her how to feel. That was the most vulnerable she's been with anyone besides Jenny and Mrs. Ann. She could fall apart in front of him, and it would be okay.

Her attraction for him startled her. This is the fourth night they've spent in the schoolroom. And she wasn't sure if she'd admit her feelings to herself, let alone him. Either way, she was falling down that hole like Alice. Falling. Falling. Into Wonderland. She didn't want to stop.


	15. Present

Two new chapters. :) Brace yourselves. :/

* * *

The too-long work day made Abbie antsy. She was impatient with pushing chairs in and shelving books and wiping tables. She wasn't able to speak to or kiss or touch Crane like she wanted to, but when he appeared in the doorway, she hurried to him and did just that. _Finally._ She moaned into his mouth and felt his hair with her fingers. He couldn't have held her any tighter. He kissed her bottomlessly.

"If we carry on this way, Miss Mills, I'm afraid we will never get to dinner."

She didn't care to eat, though she pulled away from him anyway. "There's some food in the basket. You hungry?"

"I'm starving."

She tugged his hand. "Come on then."

They ate in the desks and smiled at each other between bites of chicken salad sandwiches and salty potato chips she packed for them.

"Do you have a favorite musician, Leftenant?" Crane said.

"I love Nina Simone. Mama played her records while she baked. Her and my dad liked to dance around the living room to her songs." She smiled. "I miss watching that."

"What is your favorite song by Miss Simone?"

"'Feeling Good.' It's a classic. What about you?"

"I don't think I have a particular favorite artist. My parents didn't play much recent music in our home. The most I've listened to was Beethoven."

"We really have to get you caught up. There's so many amazing singers: The Supremes, Nat King Cole, Etta James, The Isley Brothers."

"You'll have to introduce me to their music one day."

She promised that she would.

"Do you like to dance, Miss Mills, like your parents?"

"Maybe." She blushed.

He presented his hand to her, which she accepted. In the middle of the classroom, they swayed to nothing. She laid her head on his chest.

"I missed you," Crane said.

"I missed you, too."

"I wanted to speak with you today. It saddened me that I couldn't because of—."

It drove her crazy, too, but they weren't in the world right now.

She shook head. "Don't do that, Crane. Be present with me."

And that's how he kissed her: presently. His quick tongue filled her mouth; his fingers coiled around her curly hair. She inhaled his sighs for herself. How long she drifted in his lips or how long they danced to the dust in the room, she didn't know. It didn't matter because she felt good as the song said.

* * *

"Unfortunately, this is goodnight, Miss Mills."

They loitered outside her apartment building.

"If things were different, I'd invite you to stay, but—"

"I believe it is your turn to be present with me, Leftenant."

She smiled down. "You're right."

He touched her cheek and leaned toward her lips.

"Crane…"

"Pardon me." He dropped his hand, put space between them.

"I know this is my neighborhood, but …"

She still wanted them to be on their guard.

"I understand."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize. Would you permit me to call you tomorrow? It is the weekend after all. We won't see each other for two days."

"I'll call you."

His eyes questioned her.

"Jenny. She may answer the phone thinking it's Corbin."

He stared away from her. "Very well."

"Tell me what's wrong, Crane. Be honest."

"We can't even enjoy the simple luxuries, like a telephone call, without worrying about the discomfort and disproval of others. It is frustrating to say the least. Please do not think I am blaming you, Abbie. I am not in the slightest."

"I get it. I want to tell Jenny, but I'm scared. Our relationship is already strained as it is. If she knew we were seeing each other, I don't know what would happen."

"Do you feel like you would completely lose your sister because of me?"

She nodded. "Yes. My parents are gone. Jenny's literally all the family I have."

"Do you think she would eventually come around to me and to the idea of us?"

"I don't know. After what she's been through, what she saw our parents go through, it's really hard to tell. I don't want us to trigger her any further." She sighed. "I really, really like you though, Ichabod."

To her, it felt as though she had to pick Jenny or Crane. That was a decision she didn't want to be forced to make at the end of the day. She wanted both of them in her life.

"However, you have Miss Jenny to consider."

She nodded. "As far as revealing us, give me time. I know you're not asking me to do this, but I do want to be honest with her. She's my sister."

"If you are truly comfortable with this, Abbie, then I will stand beside you. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you, Crane. Goodnight."

He bowed. "Goodnight, Leftenant."

She looked forward to calling him this weekend.

* * *

Abbie was slightly distracted in class today. Her students said as much. They said she blushed at odd moments, got one of those dazy looks that women get when they're in love. Some of them even outright asked if she had a lover. They wanted to know everything: his name, his occupation, his height, his age. Of course, Abbie wasn't about to answer their nagging questions. She was glad to finally dismiss class.

When she returned from the schoolroom, Jenny wasn't there. She didn't know when she'd be back, so she quickly dialed Crane's number while she was alone.

"Good afternoon, this is Ichabod Crane speaking."

"You're still formal even over the phone." She laughed.

"It is out of habit, Miss Mills. I was looking forward to your call. I'm pleased to hear from you. How are you faring today?"

"Good. Just got done with class."

"Ah. How was it? I know it hasn't been easy, since..."

"Yeah." She paused. "Class went well. We still really miss Stella, but we're hanging in as a group."

"I'm happy to hear it. Again, I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thanks, Crane."

"Did you teach your students any new defense techniques?"

"No, not today. Probably next Saturday. They did ask me a ton of questions though."

"Such as?"

She told him what they said.

He cleared his throat. "They refer to me as your lover, you say?"

"Are blushing, Crane?" She giggled.

"Perhaps, Miss Mills."

"It's something to think about, I know."

"Indeed."

She hadn't quite given them a name, didn't really know what they are yet. Hell, she didn't even know if she was in love with him.

"We're definitely more than friends," she said. "I'm not too sure about lovers quite yet."

The word sounded light to her. Just what would it be like for him to be between her legs, to be hers?

"I'd have to agree, though I'd be more than happy to be your lover, Miss Mills. I would not mind in the slightest."

She was glad he's not able to see her skin warm. Was that an invitation? She bit her lip. "Maybe one day you will."

She jumped when she heard the door open. "Hey, my sister just returned. I have to go."

"Will you be able to call me later this evening or tonight?"

"Yes."

"I shall wait by the phone."

She smiled, wanted to call him cheesy. "I'll talk to you later."

"Goodbye, Miss Mills."

"Bye."

She hung up and tried to calm herself with a deep breath.

"Was that Corbin?" Jenny put her empty knapsack on the table and refilled it with wrapped cookies and muffins to sell to the neighbors.

"No."

"Who was it? That lady who wanted those lessons earlier this week?"

"What lady?"

Jenny raised her eyebrow. "Remember when you came home late and I was all freaked out? You told me you were teaching a lady that night. She told you she wanted lessons from you that morning."

How could she forget her own alibi? She'd have to be quick on her feet next time. "Oh, her. No, it was another student."

"I didn't think you forgot your students. Seems odd for you to do." She resumed her task. "They're important to you, right?"

 _Shit_. Jenny's trying to catch her in a lie.

"They're very important. I've just had a lot on my mind this week."

"Like what?" She hung her bag on the chair and sat at the table.

Abbie joined her. "We've hardly spoken, Jenny, since Corbin's shop. You're still pissed at me about Crane. It's silly."

"I don't want to talk about this." She picked at her nail. "You already know I don't want you to be friends with him. What if something happens to you, huh? What am I supposed to do without my sister?"

This would have been the time where Abbie would have told her everything, but the phone rang. Jenny answered.

"Hold on, Corbin." She blocked the speaker with her hand. "Are we done?"

Abbie nodded and went to her room, flopped on her bed. How was she going to tell Jenny?

* * *

"We're such teenagers right now." Abbie kept her voice and giggles as low as possible. It was close to midnight. Once she knew Jenny was asleep, she crept back in the kitchen and called Crane. Luckily, her sister was a heavy sleeper.

"It is exciting though, I'll have to admit. I've never spoken to anyone this late at night, especially a woman."

"I've never done this before either. It's nice. Had a good day?"

"Indeed. I literally waited by the phone all day."

She chuckled. "Liar."

"It is true. I could hardly go the bathroom because I was afraid I'd miss your call."

"How sweet." She chuckled.

"How was your day?"

"It was fine, except I talked to Jenny today."

She recapped their conversation, then said, "She's not ready, Crane."

"Unfortunately, it doesn't sound like it."

"I don't know how to warm up to the subject without her getting angry. There's no way around it."

"I wish this was easier on you, Abbie. I would even tell her myself, but that would be the worse strategy to use."

She doesn't want to talk about this anymore. "Can we change the subject? Can we be present?"

"Of course."

"Tell me a funny story."

She listened to how he peed in his pants once because he was so nervous to perform a poem in grade school. He shared his most embarrassing childhood and teenage moments with her. Abbie never laughed so much. She had to remind him to go easy on her or else she'd wake up Jenny. And she listened to him laugh, too. Her own stories about the mischief her and Jenny got into when they were younger nearly made him choke. It was full and loud and crept under her breastbone, where it made her fuzzy. She wanted to remember them like this: drunk on laughter and delirious from 2am stars. That's how she went to sleep at 4am. And when Sunday came around, they did the same thing, except they went to bed a lot earlier.


	16. Trolley

Most of the passengers on the trolley ached from work and yawned for rest. Middle-aged women and men rubbed their knees and lower backs. Those a bit younger than them leaned their heads against the cold window and dozed off, snoring light, nearly missing their stops. Normally, Ichabod Crane had an easy time on the trolley ride to the schoolroom. However, there was rather a rowdy bunch of young white men that sat in the back of the bus since last week. It was four of them, and they looked to be in their mid-twenties. They wore long, black and brown coats and black dress hats or none at all. Crane heard them snickering and laughing loudly, like small boys. Sometimes, they taunted the black passengers, called them old or even niggers and monkeys. It disgusted Crane, forced him to think about Abbie and how she, her family, and her community have been treated by white people.

He saw how the passengers wanted to retaliate and make snide comments, but they bit their tongues. Unfortunately, he knew why. Abbie's story reminded him. They had families to get home to, children to hug and kiss, wives and husbands to make love to and care for, parents to nurse to good health. So he watched them silence themselves and turn their heads or backs or stare out the window.

Crane never spoke to the white men each time they did it, but he did ask the passengers if they were alright and told them to pay no mind to the men's foolishness. They gave him a small smile, a nod. He didn't confront the four white men because he didn't want them to retaliate. Perhaps they would follow him off the bus when it stopped in Abbie's neighborhood. He wasn't afraid of them punishing him per se, but more so frightened that they'd punish innocent bystanders in her community. They would not have deserved it one bit. Therefore, he sat in silence, too, as not to cause trouble. He especially didn't want Abbie to worry about him if he showed up at the schoolroom beaten and bloodied.

On this particular ride though, it was rather difficult to hold still. These four men walked to the front of the bus and mercilessly picked at an elderly black man, who sat across from him. His hair was gray; he wore glasses, a brown sweater. A thin man he was.

"Hey, nigger, what's your name?" one of them said. "Monkey Joe?"

The others giggled while the elderly man folded his hands and turned his head.

"He probably misses his jungle home in Africa," another said.

The third man said, "We all know he's having bananas for dinner."

As the trolley rolled, the fourth member of their group imitated a monkey. Taking the seat beside him, he said, "I didn't know monkeys needed glasses."

The elderly man tried to get up, but the fourth member stopped him with his arm. He snatched off his glasses. The elderly man tried to take them to only watch them be tossed around the group.

"I see we're playing 'Monkey in the Middle.' This monkey is too slow though," said the fourth member.

The more they threw the man's glasses back and forth, the more the man politely asked for them back. They ignored him. Other passengers stared and said nothing. The trolley driver told them to cut it out or else. His words didn't sway them. They continued their childish and unacceptable behavior. It even got to the point where one of the men pushed the elderly man out of his chair.

"Beg like a monkey and we'll give you your glasses."

The elderly man did not. "Return my glasses."

One of them raised his hand, about to hit him, but Crane said, "Stop. Leave this man alone."

He couldn't take such mistreatment of a human being. Carefully, he stood up as the trolley rocked to help the elderly man to his feet and back into his seat.

"I'm so sorry you are being treated this way, sir."

"Thank you for being kind," he said.

Crane shakily turned to the men. "Give this man his glasses back this instant." He balled his fists, had flashes of Abbie or Miss Jenny in such an ordeal. It fired him up just that much.

"Looks like he's got a friend." One of them stepped closer to him, huffed in his face. "I've seen you before. You get off in his monkey-ass neighborhood. You're a stop before him. We saw you last week. You have nigger friends here?"

"My friends are none of your concern. Return his glasses immediately."

The young man pushed him down, broke the man's glasses in half and threw them in his lap.

"Happy, nigger lover?"

As they all went back to their seats at the rear end of the trolley, Crane gathered himself with help from the elderly man. He sat beside him.

"Thank you, sir. What is your name?"

"You're welcome. Dan." He stuck out his hand.

"I'm Ichabod Crane. I'm sorry your glasses are broken."

"Nothing tape couldn't fix." He took a roll out of his coat pocket. "I keep it with me in case things happen. When I young, I was quite clumsy. Broke my glasses often."

Crane chuckled. "I was quite accident-prone myself sometimes. Allow me, Mr. Dan."

He tapped up his glasses and put them on for him.

"You're a nice man. Ichabod, you said?"

"Indeed."

"Thank for your help."

His stop was approaching.

"You are very welcome. No one deserves that. I do hope you get your glasses fixed soon."

He waves his hand. "I need new ones actually."

"Well, I hope they are the best pair yet."

"Thank you." Dan nudged his elbow, spoke softly to him. "Whoever she is, take good care of her. Y'all be careful. Understand?"

Crane's heart fluttered. "Is it that obvious?"

Mr. Dan held his stomach as he laughed. "Shoot, yeah. I don't know too many white men who come to this neck of the woods unless it's for a special reason or trouble. You seem kind, not like those rough raffs. You must be smitten with her, huh?" He winked.

"Indeed, I am, Mr. Dan." Crane knew he was turning pink.

"She's a lucky woman."

"No, Mr. Dan. I'm the lucky one. She is more than incredible."

"The look on your face says as much. You take care of her. Protect her."

"I will, Mr. Dan. I will."

As his stop neared, he noticed passengers both black and white staring at them. They had smiles on their faces, gave both of them small nods, and a little bit of hope for a possibly better world. That hope was short-lived, however, as when Crane stepped off the trolley, so did the four men.

Crane's heart wouldn't stop bumping around as he walked as quickly as he could. He wouldn't dare go to the schoolroom, but he tried to find an old building of some sort. They called after him, ran after him even. He was chased into an alley, one with no escape.

* * *

"You like niggers, do you?" one of them said. "You know what happens to nigger lovers?"

They crowded around him. Crane tried to remember all Abbie taught him. He kicked one of them, punched with fierceness. It wounded one man, but he wasn't able to fight off the other three. He tried to run, only to be caught and dragged into a corner. One held his arms back as the others punched and kicked him. They struck his forehead and lips that he felt crack open and become hollow. When they punched him, his knees buckled and he choked for stars and night air. The attacks came from all directions, landed in every place he left exposed: his back, his knees, his groin. He felt beads of spit on his cheek and in his eye, on his chin. Their beating was so much that Crane couldn't feel his body anymore. He numbed, saw them run off out of a squinted and throbbing eye. The other was completely closed shut. He prayed Abbie was safe, that her neighbors wouldn't cross paths with them. Her cinnamon laugh and wide smile and doe eyes and plump lips rattled in his aching head. He didn't know if he'd live or die in this alley, but before he passed out, he wanted to remember her that way: happy and present.

* * *

Abbie paced and paced. It wasn't like Crane to not show up. It's Monday, and he's late. He's nearly an hour late. If he wasn't able to meet with her, he would have told her. He would have said after work while they waited for the trolley. So where is he? Was there traffic? Did the trolley break down? Did the trolley driver get lost? Her heart clanged in her throat. She quickly ran back into her apartment to dial his number. He could be home, right? Maybe he didn't feel good all of sudden. The flu perhaps. It was still really cold outside. No answer.

She checked back in the schoolroom once more. Because maybe she was just panicking for nothing and he'd be there waiting for her all along, with outstretched arms and shiny blue eyes. Maybe. Maybe. The room was empty. She bit her lips, felt tears. Of course, she pictured the worst things. Someone could have got him, could have followed him, beat him, strung him up on a tree. He could be dead. And she sprinted outside, ran down the street, calling his name, recklessly going into danger. And people stare at her like she's crazy, which she might be, but it didn't matter.

She checked in two alleys not far from the schoolroom. Nearly screamed when she saw a still body in the third. It's him. Crane. There was blood. A lot of _his_ blood that got covered in her hands as she shook him awake. He made a little noise. It sounded like her broken name even. She said he had to help her get him to his feet as much as he could. She'd do the rest. She'd be strong for him. So he did his best, though it was fragile and painful. She pulled him the rest of the way, put her weight and his on the brick wall. Someone helped her carry him. They saw some of what happened. Four men. Angry. Punched. Kicked. Ran away. It was like hearing the news about Stella again, like seeing May and her lover on the trees. That same thing just about happened to Crane. Nearly could have been her if they were still there. They finally got him to her apartment. Jenny was back. Her mouth was open wide and wanted to know what the hell was going on. Why he was here in their home. Why he was bloody. She didn't have time to explain and demanded her sister to stop bitching and just help her get him to her room, so she could get help next.

The only place she knew to go was Mrs. Ann. When she knocked Mr. Sam answered the door. Asked her what was wrong. She spilled the story in a jumbled mess. Thank God Mrs. Ann was home this time around and hadn't worked late at the hospital like normal. Mrs. Ann grabbed her First Aid Kit. Then the both of them hurried to her apartment. It took nearly two hours for Mrs. Ann to fix and stitch his bruises. He had so many. Too many. She felt around for broken limbs. Turned out to be four: a arm, a leg, a ankle, a rib. She wrapped and elevated them as best she could. He may even have a concussion. She left Abbie plenty of instructions on how to change his bandages. How long it'll take him to heal. How he needed to go to hospital here, but it's too crowded and they are short staffed, short of everything really. She'd bring him back some pain medication she used for herself at times. Some crutches. Some of Mr. Sam's clothes because Crane wasn't going anywhere anytime soon until he healed. Jenny stood in the doorway, arms crossed, in shock and anger of it all. Abbie told her they'd talk later. This wasn't how she wanted her to know. Then she walked Mrs. Ann out into the hall and cried and cried and cried. Mrs. Ann rubbed her back and said, "I've got you, sugar."

* * *

After Abbie wiped her eyes, Mrs. Ann got to the point.

"How long have you been with him, baby?"

"Not long. Only about a week, officially, you could say. We've been meeting in the schoolroom."

"Look at you, baby. You're scared out of your mind." She brushed Abbie's curls from her face.

The tears came again. "Will he be okay?"

She just wanted him to be okay.

"He's going to pull through. You'll have to check on him throughout the night. Give him soft and broth-like items to eat and drink, like tea and soup."

She'd do everything she could to take care of him.

"I don't know how to thank you enough."

"Don't worry about it, baby. You know I'm here for you anytime if I can be. You try to get some rest, okay? And talk to your sister. I've never seen anyone as shocked and pissed as she was."

"I will. Thank you again."

"And, sugar, it's okay."

"What's okay?"

"You're in love with him. It's okay. It's as clear as day."

Abbie didn't know what to say. She hadn't known Crane long enough to be in love with him. At least she wasn't ready to admit it to herself yet.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Ann." She hugged and thanked her again.

"It's no problem, darling. I'll come check on him tomorrow."

Abbie nodded, and they parted ways. Jenny stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed like before. She wanted answers. Now.

"Tomorrow, Jenny. I just….give me a minute." What else could she say?

Jenny walked away from her toward her room and slammed her door shut. As Abbie walked into hers and sat on the foot of the bed, she stared at Crane's bruised and broken body. Tonight was close. He could have died. She could have lost him and all he was: compassionate, cheeky, charming. He was hope and love and possibilities and courage and defiant. Sacrifice even. And as she watched him sleep and heal, she admitted it to herself, that, yes, she was in love with him, that, no, she wouldn't change that for the world, not even for her sister.


	17. Love

A new chapter. So sorry for not posting in a while. Been a little busy. My apologies for the short chapter. I'll try to have a longer update next time. Enjoy though. :)

* * *

She opened the door for Mrs. Ann a short while later. Then she spooned a halved bowl of savory chicken broth and swallowed a cup of sugarless green tea. Mrs. Ann reminded her about changing his bandages soon. Abbie put his loaned clothes in an empty drawer she never used and placed his crutches by her closet door. In four hours, he needs more medication, Mrs. Ann said. A dry erase board was placed on her nightstand. To help him communicate, she also said. Abbie gave her a nod, maybe a small okay. Mrs. Ann hugged her and reminded her to rest. By this point, Abbie numbed, feeling everything and nothing. The bed was big enough for both her and Crane, so she showered, changed into her pajamas, and slid under the covers. He was sleep, of course, knocked out on pills and pain. She carefully put her head on his chest as she closed her eyes. His breathing was shallow due to his broken rib. She'd breathe for him if she could. But she couldn't. It was out of her control, like other things.

Like her sister's silent anger, her feelings for Crane, and how the world saw her. She wouldn't be able to control the town's disapproval of them if they went public. Their severe stares, their crooked frowns, and their wrathful words would corner them everywhere. Some of the worst had already happened this evening. She wasn't too much afraid of their lives shedding and falling apart anymore. He survived. They survived. And she believed they'd rebuild themselves, like a forest after a bitter fire.

* * *

She awoke to medicate Crane. The sun was still somewhere behind the moon, but Abbie didn't feel like going back to bed, even if it was close to 2a.m. She kissed his forehead before she grabbed their bloodied clothes and went to the laundry room. Mama used to do laundry late at night, too. That's only if she was bothered or upset. Like Mama, like daughter. Or daughters. Abbie wasn't the only one in a mood; Jenny was there, too, folding over the dryer.

Abbie didn't speak to her as she began the washer and dropped their clothes in it. An argument would just ensue, she knew. There was enough for her to deal with already, but apparently, Jenny thought otherwise.

"I want him out of here," she said.

Abbie slammed the washer door and quickly turned around. "He's not going anywhere."

"You think this is going to work, huh? That you two will just be happily ever after? Wake the fuck up, Abbie! Look a—"

"I have eyes, Jenny! You don't think I know people hate me? You don't think I know me and Crane won't catch plenty of hell for being together? I know that. I _know_ that _._ He _literally_ could have died tonight. And that's just for coming to this neighborhood—nevermind visiting me. I know what we're up against."

"So you're going to risk your goddamned life for him? For a white man? When most of them don't give a shit?"

"Crane gives a shit. He—"

"He what? Loves you?"

"Yes! What the hell is so wrong with that? Our skin color? I don't give a fuck about that. In the schoolroom, it's only us. There's no separate but equal, no reminders of my place as a second-class citizen and as a woman. He's respectful, empathetic, gentle. Do I feel guilty for caring about him the way I do? Yeah. I know what happened to our parents. I saw what you went through. Our community suffers every single day. Our ancestors have endured much, much worse. But he sees my humanity, my vulnerability, my beauty. And I see his. I'm not giving that up. I'm not giving _him_ up."

"If we were in the South—"

"Don't lecture me, Jenny. I have a pretty good idea of what would happen to me and Crane in the South. We'd end up dead. Lynched."

Like May and her lover and their baby beneath their feet. Abbie pictured the grief on their families' faces again. Did they think about their parents and siblings during their note passing and sneaking off? Did they think about the consequences, about the emptiness they'd leave their loved ones with? Abbie liked to think they did. Yet, they still risked their lives, their families. For what?

Jenny flinched. "Is he worth it? You love him enough to die for him?"

She thought of her Mama's words. How she should hold on to that stringy, loved-filled balloon. Whether it was familial love with her sister and parents or romantic love with Crane, Mama wanted her to have it in all its forms. Abundantly. Unconditionally.

Her heart clanged like the washing machine, loud and steady, performing the work it's purposed to do. She asked herself the same question. Would she really give up her life for him? He's in her bed, severely injured. He bore the beating, so she didn't have to, no matter what it cost him. Then the night with her sister hit. She was ready to die for Jenny or with her.

"Yes."

She let her boldness settle beneath her tongue. There's a burning in her spine, a power of some sort, courage. She left her sister standing in the laundry room by herself. There's nothing else for her to say. Love wasn't just sacrifice; it was the high-pitched laughs, the sweet air, the sour treetops, the honey hugs, the tuneful "I love you." It was everything.

* * *

Somehow Crane managed to lean against the headboard with fluffed pillows behind his back. Her lamp was back on, which she turned off before she left. He wasn't supposed to be moving around, though maybe his medication started kicking in. Smiling, he held open his good arm. She closed the door, then carefully snuggled up to him. It made her happy to see him awake, even if he was ridden to the bed.

She brushed hair from his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Abb—." He winced.

"Don't talk." She grabbed the dry erase board off the night stand and explained why he needed it. "It'll help."

He opened his mouth to speak once more, but she covered his mouth with her hand.

"Write."

He pouted but scribbled on it anyway. "How are you? I heard you and Miss Jenny arguing."

"I'm sorry we woke you."

He erased and rewrote. She read.

"Do not apologize. Was she really upset?"

"Well, she didn't jump for joy." She briefly recounted their argument. "My feelings aren't changing. Jenny will have to be pissed off."

"I'm sorry I've caused such a rift between you two."

"It's not your fault, Crane."

"How does this make you feel?"

There was nothing else she could do. She's not defending her relationship to her any longer.

"I expected this. I'm fine for the most part. I'm strong in us. That's all that matters." She squeezed his hand.

He smiled, then wrote something else. "Tonight was quite terrifying for both of us. I'll have to provide more details about that when I'm able to speak. Are you alright? Did anyone try to attack you, Abbie?"

"I'm fine, Crane."

He raised his eyebrow.

She glanced at the open and red cuts on his face, the rib she couldn't see, his broken arm and ankle. There were probably other wounds she didn't know about. Her hands carefully touched his cheeks. The dread she felt earlier blanketed her. This night could have been worse. He kissed her forehead as she began to cry into his chest.

"Abbie." His lips pecked her palms.

She sniffed. "You're not—"

"I love you."

She couldn't bring herself to reprimand him. "I love you, too."

It felt right to say it aloud. He said it ten more times while he kissed her lips, eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, jawline. Did he not care about his rib?

"I was scared. I thought…" she said.

He nodded, wrote on the board. "I was frightened, too. If those men saw you, they would've hurt you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were harmed, Abbie. The last thing I'd want is for you to risk your—"

"You didn't show up. It worried me. I had to find you, no matter what it cost me. It's that simple."

He frowned at her, shook his head, quickly wiped his old message, and scribbled his new one.

"It's not that simple. You could've been in—"

"Crane. Ichabod. Let's talk about this later. Can we just…be present? We're both safe now. Can that be enough?"

Nodding, he gave her the board, and she put it back on the night stand. She checked to make sure he didn't have to go to bathroom, asked him about his pain, and switched off the lamp.

"We'll have to discuss our jobs tomorrow. You won't be able to work for a while."

She figured he must've frowned. He loved his job.

"You'll need a nurse, Mr. Crane. You want me to be your caretaker?" she whispered against his lips before she nuzzled them with her own.

He tugged her closer. "Mmhm."

"I'll prescribe you lots of hugs and kisses."

His beard tickled her neck. Then his lips and breath. And she couldn't help but giggle. She carefully rested her leg on his knee.

"You're going to be trouble, I bet."

He tickled her, causing her to laugh more.

"Stop that, Crane."

He smooched her lips once more.

"I love you, too. Now, sleep."

He drifted off, and she did, too. She's never had better rest.


	18. Edge

New chapter. So sorry for the long wait. Happy Halloween. :)

* * *

It was early Tuesday morning, and she called in to work to discuss her vacation package. James Fuller, the library manager, didn't want to give her two weeks off, even though she told him she had a family emergency to tend to.

"I can only give you three days, Abigail," he said. "No one else is able to fill your place on such short notice."

That sounded like bullshit. Someone should be able to cover for her temporarily.

"What am I supposed to do with such a limited amount of time? I don't have anyone else to care for my relative. They can't be alone right now."

He sighed. "Three days is the best I can offer you unless you find work elsewhere. In all honesty, I think that'd be best, since you aren't able to fully commit to your job responsibilities here. Unfortunately, it seems you people cannot obligate yourselves to the tasks at hand. Perhaps there are a couple of other housekeeping jobs that provide more flexibility to meet your needs."

You people? She was pissed off now. Her people are committed to their job, whatever it may be; she's committed to hers. It's racist asses like him that don't treat them fairly or give them the same opportunity. If she were white, she wouldn't even have to ask twice about getting time off.

"Are you firing me?"

"You give me no other option really. You understand, don't you?"

She bit her tongue. "Yes."

"Excellent. Your last pay check will be mailed to you. Good day."

She slammed the phone on its base. With Crane injured and Jenny angry, losing her job was the last thing she needed. _Shit_. She'd have to figure her job out later. Right now, she should check on Crane. He'd need his bandages changed and his medication soon. She fixed him a glass of water before she went to her room. He was awake. She put his water on the nightstand.

"Morning." She kissed his forehead and handed him his board. "How do you feel?"

"In some pain, but I'll be fine," he wrote.

"Crane, you don't need to pretend with me. If you're hurting, then you have to tell me. I want to make sure you're okay." She touched his cheek.

He kissed her palm and erased what he had to rewrite. "Medication would be most helpful."

She watched him swallow the two pills she gave him and down the glass of water. "I'll make you some soup and toast as well. I'm sure you're hungry. Do you need to pee?"

His eyes widened.

"Don't give me that look." She put the glass back on the nightstand. "You're going to need help getting to the bathroom."

He shook his head.

"Your pride isn't important to me right now, Crane. I know you can do it on your own, but you won't be able to complete certain tasks independently until you're completely healed. I want to make sure your most basic needs are met. That's includes using the bathroom and showering. You'll have your privacy; don't worry."

He pouted but nodded anyway. She carefully helped him sit up and handed him the crutches Mrs. Ann brought over last night. He wobbled, winced, grunted, cursed as he stepped toward the bathroom. The pain was a lot, but he was finally able to relieve himself, among other things. She told him there was a spare toothbrush and washcloth on the sink for him through the door. Then something fell on the ground. There was a light bang of some sort. He sounded really clumsy as she waited for him.

"You okay?"

He gave some kind of grumbled yes after he flushed the toilet. The water ran for a bit. Then he opened the door. She couldn't help but giggle at him. He frowned.

"I know it's not funny, but you look so disheveled. It's cute. Let me help you." She twisted his crooked pajama pants around his waist, tugged his shirt down, and wiped toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. Then she kissed his lips and helped him toward the kitchen. He slowly sat down in a chair and got as comfortable as he could.

"Your medicine should kick in real soon. I'll get your board."

He wrote on it while she prepared them breakfast. After she placed their food on the table and sat down herself, she read his message.

"Good morning, Treasure. Thank you so much for tending to my needs. If there's any way I can repay you for your kindness, then I shall see to it that you receive proper compensation. How was your call into work? Were you able to take two weeks off?"

She didn't want to get into that right now. He'd only blame himself if he knew she got fired.

"You don't have to pay me back, Crane. Your safety is enough. As for my job, I'm handling it. Speaking of which, we have to find you a cover. What happens when you're absent? Does someone come in for you?"

He nodded, erased, and scribbled on his board.

"Yes. A man by the name of Abraham Van Brunt takes over my duties while I'm away on vacation or sick. I shall call him after I've finished my breakfast; it is quite delicious, by the way. Did you prepare it?"

"Mrs. Ann made it. She'll probably come by later today. You'll finally get to meet her. She's amazing and has been really supportive of me and of us. She's the one who cleaned your injuries, gave you medicine, the clothes, and everything else."

"I'll have to express my sincerest thank you toward her for showing such kindness towards me," he wrote.

Abbie nodded, stirred her soup. "Maybe we'll make her dinner and dessert or something to show her our appreciation. We'll plan it."

He penned something else as he bit off his toast. "How is Miss Jenny?"

"I don't know. I didn't see her when I woke up. She's more than likely gone for the day."

"Will you ever mend your relationship with her?"

"I don't know, Crane. It's up—"

She heard the door open; funnily enough, it was Jenny herself. She ignored them sitting at the table and emptied her sack full of dollars, coins, and wrapped cookies and cakes.

"Good morning, Miss Jenny," Crane said.

"Crane—"

"It's alright. I'm able to speak briefly."

She didn't believe him, but she let him be.

Jenny glared at him. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter.

"I understand you are quite angry, and you have every right to feel that way. I would like to apologize for causing a rift between you and your sister. That was not my intention. My intentions are not to put you or Abbie in—"

"You could get her killed, you know that? I could lose her because of you."

"Jenny—"

"She is correct, Abbie. Miss Jenny, I hope I can show you that I would never put your sister in danger. You have my word that I will protect her at all costs. I love her too much to put her in an unsafe environment or to permit ill will to happen to her."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"If you love her as much as you say, then let her go. That's the only way you'll be able to protect her. I don't know all the details about last night, but I can imagine she's probably already risked her safety for you, running around this goddamned neighborhood trying to make sure you're okay. And look at you, all blue and purple. You have stitches and broken bones. For what? For love?" She scoffed.

"With all due respect, Miss Jenny, I'd endure that beating over and over, if it meant those horrid men didn't lay one single finger on her. I have no regrets."

"What's going to happen next time? Hmm? And the time after that? No matter what you vow, she's going to be targeted. Do you even care about your own safety? Do her the favor, let her go." She finished unpacking her sack and then shut herself in her room.

Abbie didn't touch her soup or toast. She wasn't hungry anymore. He didn't say much as he finished his own food in silence. There was a prickle in her chest. She felt things were going to change between them soon enough and not for the better.

* * *

After breakfast, Crane called the library. Of course, Abraham could cover for him. Of course, Crane could take all the time he needed to heal from his "accident." Or course, he'd still have his job. Of course, he'd still receive some sort of paycheck. And of course, it pissed Abbie off, but she didn't tell him this. She was glad he still had his job, but it made her question their relationship and how that affected everything else, including her work. Just how much would she lose for choosing to love him? How much could she _stand_ to lose and be okay with?

* * *

They napped for a couple of hours that day. Abbie gave him his medication every four hours as recommended and changed his bandages every so often. His scars on his face were healing well. She left the gauze off to give his wounds some air before redressing them. They ate ham sandwiches for lunch in her room to avoid a spat with Jenny. She read them a book and helped him shower for the first time as best she could. Then he somewhat helped her changed the bedding as well as fold their laundry. It was the least he could do, he said.

Later, Mrs. Ann arrived that evening to check on them and bring over some more First Aid supplies, medication, and clothes. Mr. Sam even accompanied her this time. All of them sat at the kitchen table over tea and muffins. With his board, Crane got a chance to ask them questions and get to know them. There was laughter, though not too much, because of Crane's rib, and smiles and jokes.

Crane was sure to thank them for all they'd done. He even stood up on his crutches and attempted to bow for them. Mrs. Ann blushed like Mr. Sam couldn't believe. After a while, Mr. Sam helped Crane back to bed and while Abbie and Mrs. Ann stood outside her apartment to catch up.

"How are you feeling, sugar? You talk to your sister?"

Abbie sighed. "She's….we got into a fight late last night. Of course, we didn't see eye-to-eye." Then she told her about this morning.

"You think he'll listen to her?"

"I don't know."

She doesn't know if Crane would want to call their relationship off. Jenny has a way of getting inside a person's head.

"We'll have to talk about where to go in our relationship later. I think for now, we just need to focus on making sure he's healed."

Mrs. Ann nodded. "I believe you two will survive. I like him, you know? I see why you like him. He really does love you, baby. And I know you love him. It'll be hard, yes, but you two will be okay. Love is a giant."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ann."

"What will you two do about work?"

She shared everything in between.

"I'd give that man a piece of mind if I could. And both of you work at the same place. That isn't right. I'm so sorry, baby. If you need anything…"

Abbie shook her head. "You've done enough for us. I couldn't ask that."

She had her savings. They were slim, but she had them. She'd make do.

"Just remember I'm here for you, sugar." Mrs. Anne kissed her check and hugged her.

She felt like she was running out of thank yous.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I'm not sure." Abbie sighed. "He'll think it's fault, that he's the cause of it."

"It's not my place, and I can't tell you what to do, but just think on it."

"I'll do that."

They said goodnight, and Abbie went back inside. Before joining Crane, she showered and then got into bed with him.

"Are you in any pain?"

"A bit, but the medicine will take effect soon," he wrote.

"Well, let's get your mind off it. How about we play a game?"

He lowered his eyebrows at her.

"Don't look at me like that. We're never too old for games."

She hopped out of bed and grabbed the stack of cards on her dresser. They played a quiet game of Crazy Eights. He may or may not have cheated when she left to use the restroom. Abbie thought the game would distract her telling Crane about her job, but it didn't. It nagged at her, and it showed as a frown on her face during her turn.

Crane showed her his board.

"In all honesty, I'm not okay. There is something on my mind."

He took her hands as she took a breath.

"I lost my job." And she explained the rest.

Crane hurriedly scribbled on the board. He threatened to quit and seek other employment elsewhere. Any institution that unjustly mistreated her would not receive his service.

She shook her head. "You can't quit your job, Ichabod. It's your only source of income right now. You aren't even able to work yet. Leaving your job isn't the best idea, not even for me. I just consider it a sacrifice for us, a small price. I'll find something else, that's all."

Abbie should have more sense than this. This wasn't something to be nonchalant about, something to downplay, but she wanted them.

"That is where we differ in our views, Abbie. It's not a 'small price.' You shouldn't have to pay the price or be punished because of me. You should not have to pay the price with your relationships, with your job, and especially with your safety," he wrote.

"We knew this would be hard, didn't we? That there would be challenges? This is only the beginning. We could go to a café together and they wouldn't serve us; they'd probably tell me I should go to a café suited to serve customers like myself. It's how it's going to be. I need to know if we can withstand instances like that."

He shook his head and quickly erased the board. "What about instances where your life is threatened, Abigail? I will not tolerate that under any circumstances. Perhaps…"

"Perhaps what, Ichabod?"

Crane put his marker down and stared at her.

Tears crept over her eyelids. He tried to touch her cheek, but she turned away from him. She wiped her face, sat the board on the nightstand. Their relationship possibly ending was something she didn't want to address right now.

"It's getting late. We should sleep."

He opened his mouth, but she said, "Don't."

She didn't want his explanations, nor did she want him talking.

"Do you need to use the bathroom or need anything from the kitchen?"

He shook his head.

"Goodnight then." And she cut off the lamp.

He kissed her lips in the dark; it felt like the edge of goodbye.

* * *

Abbie received an unexpected call from Mrs. Ann this morning.

"Is everything okay?" she said.

"I'm fine, sugar. I have some news for you."

Her heart clattered in her chest. "What kind of news?"

"You have a job, baby." Mrs. Ann laughed.

She must've heard wrong. "What?"

"You have a job. I found out our unit is now short a secretary. Sally took a writing position with the newspaper in our area. We need someone to cover her shift during the evenings. It's part-time, but there is a possibility it may be full-time soon, depending on the workload. I've already talked to the supervisor in charge of the secretaries. I told her about your last position, and she really wanted to help out.

"Of course, I didn't disclose information about your relationship to her. It's nobody's business. You don't even have to interview for the position. All you have to do is come in one day this week to complete some paperwork and learn more about the job. You'll start next week."

She didn't know why God decided to bless her with someone like Mrs. Ann, but she was so glad He did.

"I don't even—" Her emotions were stronger than her voice and tears fell on her cheeks. "Mrs. Ann, you didn't have to."

"I wanted to. You've been through so much. I wanted to lift your spirit, baby."

"I don't know how to repay you for this."

"Don't worry about that. I hadn't known you long, but you've become like family to me, Abbie."

She wanted to hug her through the phone. "Thank you so, so much. That means more than you know. Do you know what the hours will be?"

"You'll work between 6pm-11pm. My shift ends at 6pm on a good day, so I'll be able to look after Ichabod for you while you go to work. If my shift runs late, then Sam can take over. He's finishes teaching around 2pm."

"But I couldn't—"

"Sam is fine with it. I've already spoke to him."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me, honey. Everything is worked out."

She smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now, I've got to get back to work. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Ann. Really. Thank you. You've done a lot for me, and it has not gone unnoticed."

"You're more than welcome, sweet heart."

Abbie wished her a great day, and they hung up. She told Crane the news. He was more than happy for her. But even with this job, she felt he was still on the edge.


	19. Goodbye

I know it's been a while since I last posted. Just finished up my second semester of grad school, so I'll have more time to write now. And I didn't forget about "Back to Us." An update for that is coming as well. I just can't say when, but you'll have it. :)

* * *

Though she's only had her position for six weeks, Abbie's enjoyed her job as a secretary, especially since it paid twice as much. She's met mothers calling to schedule an appointment for their milk-breathed infants, children shyly asking for an orange lollipop, and fathers rushing in their teen for a broken arm. The day was never dull. Be it phone calls every 30 minutes or customers requesting to see the doctor, her time was always occupied. The hours went by quickly.

Most times, Mrs. Ann clocked out 2 or 3 hours late, so Mr. Sam looked after Crane for the time being. He actually preferred for Mrs. Ann not to come at all; he liked their guy time. Of course, Mrs. Ann didn't like their little boy's club, but she let them have it. She only dropped by to bring dinner, check Crane's wounds, and make small talk before leaving. Abbie couldn't thank them enough.

Crane greeted Abbie at the door with a long kiss and a tight hug. He was normally on crutches, but this week, his arm, ankle, and leg were finally healed, so he didn't need them anymore. He was happy to be able to walk on his own again. His rib was healed, too, to the point where he could breathe and talk without any pain. This was his last weekend in her home.

"How was work?" He took her bag.

"Busy, but good. I'm happy for the weekend. How was your day? Did Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam leave already?"

"My day was well. I missed you, of course. And, yes, they left around 15 minutes ago and send their regards. Mrs. Ann left dinner for us. Would you like me to fix you a plate?"

"I'm starving."

While he heated her plate in the oven, Abbie showered and slipped into her pajamas. Her food was on the table.

"Thank you," she said as she sat down.

"My pleasure." He joined her.

"How are you feeling about your last few days here?" Abbie cut into her meat loaf.

They hadn't talked about what would happen once he was all better. Of course, he'd go back to work and his home, but she didn't know if their relationship would continue.

"I'm quite sad about it, to be honest. This is the most time we've spent together, and I've enjoyed every bit of it."

They told secrets and laughed under the covers, kissed until they fell asleep, and said they loved each other until the moon bled into the sun.

She grabbed his hand. "Me, too."

They quieted, but there was more that needed to be said.

"What about us, Crane? What happens?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure."

"We're either together or we're not."

"May we talk about this after you've had your supper?"

"Fine."

* * *

Crane stood and wiggled his fingers while Abbie sat on the bed with her arms crossed.

"Spit it out."

He knelt in front of her. "I love you with everything in me, Abbie, but…"

"You're giving up on us?"

"I wouldn't exactly use those terms."

"Then what terms am I supposed to use, Ichabod?"

"What do you want me to say? I don't enjoy terminating our relationship either. However, you shouldn't be with a person who will cause turmoil in your life. Look at your relationship with your sister. She is no longer speaking to you. You lost your job to nurse me back to health. Most importantly, your safety also has to be considered. I will not put you in danger under any circumstance. Your life has been turned upside down enough."

"We knew there'd be challenges if we did this."

"I agree, but I will not risk your life in the process."

She understood his point. His safety was important to her, too. But still…

"I believe in us. I think we can overcome anything. No one is going to welcome us. My sister didn't even do that. I know the risks. I saw what happened to you. I know what could happen to me. But I love you. It's as simple as that."

There was nothing else to say. They stood where they stood and stared at each other while they traced noses, lips, and eyebrows. She wasn't upset at him, just disappointed in how things were. It made her cry. Part of her wanted to be at peace with their relationship ending, and the other part wanted to hold on to it for dear life. But she understood his concerns. He wouldn't want them to sneak around anyway. That's not what she wanted either.

He wiped her face, kissed her forehead, nose. Then her lips. He kissed her like they could withstand, like they had forever when they didn't. She wanted all of him while they still shared her room, so she let him remove all her clothing. He kissed the dip in her back and touched her breasts, hips, thighs, and everything in between. She fell into his gentle kisses, warm skin, sweet tongue, and bold hands. She moaned and her nails clenched his shoulder bones when he slid himself between her legs. He spoke her name into the wisps of her hair. They wrapped and moved their bodies together until both of them contorted in wild pleasure.

Nearly all weekend they stayed in bed. When Monday morning arrived, they returned all the items Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam loaned them. They went to the schoolroom for old time's sake and to say goodbye.

"I have to get back to my lessons."

Abbie temporarily cancelled them because she didn't feel comfortable leaving Crane alone, even if she wasn't far and would only be gone for an hour. The girls were disappointed, but she promised them she'd be back once her relative was taken care of.

"As you should. I want you to get back to your life. You deserve to be happy and at peace." His hand touched her cheek.

She wouldn't stop her tears today. "You make me happy, too, Ichabod."

"I'm most joyful when I'm with you as well."

She wanted to kiss him again and make love to him in the chilly and dusty schoolroom once more. But she gathered herself and stepped back from him.

"You have work in a couple of hours. You should go before you're late."

"Would I be able to call you occasionally?"

She wasn't sure if she could handle phone calls. Hearing his voice and not being able to see him in person was kind of cruel. But she agreed to phone calls anyway. What else could she do? If she couldn't have him as her life partner, then she'd settle for being his friend.

"Thank you for your generous time and thank you for nursing me back to health. I've much enjoyed our days together, Abigail." He bowed for her.

"Me, too, Ichabod."

He kissed her in finality. Before he left, he turned for another glimpse of her. It was then she knew they weren't over, that they'd make their paths cross again. The second time around, they would withstand.


	20. Protest

These are the last two chapters of the story. Thank you so, so much for waiting so patiently as I updated this story. I know it's been forever. Thank you for reading and commenting and the support you've given me. It means the world and beyond. I hope you enjoy the final chapters. :)

* * *

Abbie hasn't seen Crane for three months. She hasn't fingered his brown beard or kissed his gentle lips. Or cocooned herself in his arms. But she's heard his voice. He's called her more than a time or two, since they stopped seeing each other. Most days they played phone tag. He called her as she zipped up her skirt and gobbled the rest of her dinner in preparation for her evening job at the hospital; it normally ran late. And she dialed him as he swallowed his coffee and laced his boats for the library shelves. It was only on the weekends when they were able to make small talk. They didn't have to rush off the phone and apologize for it.

The phone rang as she entered the apartment; she hurried to it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Miss Mills."

"Hey, Crane."

"I hope this Saturday finds you well. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Just getting back from my class this afternoon. It went well. I have a few new girls."

This was her fourth weekend teaching. The corners and desks were so marked with Crane that she needed to give herself time before she recontinued lessons. The first class was difficult. All the moments with Crane played before her: their first day, their first meal, their first kiss. But she was able to pull it together and focus. When she got home, she let herself fall apart. It was like this since they split really. At night, she cried and tucked herself between the sheets they shared. Then he called her in the day, and she pretended to be fine.

"I'm glad you're instructing again and that your day is joyous."

"Thank you. What about you?"

He sighed. "It is quiet here. Unfortunately, my novel isn't keeping my attention. I haven't been able to focus on books at all if I'm honest. My thoughts have been occupied."

Recently, he told her he wasn't sleeping at night either.

She closed her eyes. This was a road she wanted to avoid today. "Don't do this, Ichabod. Not again."

"I miss you, Abbie."

This was where they ended up every Saturday, and she'd hang up, with her heart wide open and wounded again.

"You're the one who called us off. You don't get to miss me."

She missed him, too, would even take him back, but she didn't want to rekindle their relationship only for him to call it quits again. She didn't like being towed with.

"I knew your absence would be difficult, but I underestimated just how much. I was a fool, a coward. I regret ending our relationship because of my fears."

"What do you want me to say, Crane?" She quickly wiped the tears below her eyes. "What do you want?"

"I would like to continue our courtship. However—"

"We're either in this or we're not. There's no in-between."

"You are correct, but your safety is of the upmost importance. What if—? "

"There is no 'What if?' Don't tell me we can't do the impossible."

"I wish I could tell you we could."

She shook her head. "Don't bring this up if you're just going to backpedal. Make up your damn mind, Ichabod. If you want to be with me, show me."

"I don't mean to upset you."

She was silent.

"Abbie?"

"I have to go, Crane. I'll talk to you later."

She didn't wait for him to say goodbye before she hung up. Her apartment felt cramped now. Everything in it was too small: the kitchen, the living room, her bedroom. So she left her home for cold air. A walk was what she needed. Winter still presented itself outside, but it didn't bother her. The snow would melt soon anyway. She didn't have a destination in mind. On the way to wherever, she passed Corbin's bakery. His window was finally repaired, so Jenny was able to go back to work. Corbin picked her up and dropped her off each day for safety. And Abbie still helped on the weekends.

Her and Jenny weren't on good terms yet, but at least they spoke to each other again. Small talk at least. If it wasn't for Jenny getting into Crane's head, then maybe he wouldn't have broken up with her. Maybe. But Crane probably would've did so anyway, even without Jenny's assistance. She didn't know for sure, but it didn't make sense to worry over it now.

* * *

Abbie found herself in the park with lots of people. Protestors actually. All races. They held large white signs. The black words on them said "We Demand Equal Rights Now!" or "Integration Is An Education" or "Jim Crow Must Go." Citizens linked arms and chanted. News crews panned their cameras this way and that while reporters scribbled on notepads as quickly as they could. Policemen stood on the outskirts, with batons in hand and stoic faces. She prayed the protestors returned home safe instead of bloodied and broken, like she saw on television.

While being in the midst of the protest, she couldn't help but think of Crane. She wanted them to have a life together without rules and restrictions. Where was their freedom to love? She was about to leave when she saw a couple she recognized. It was Eric and his girlfriend Sarah. They held hands and signs as they walked with the other residents. And she just looked at them. How could they be so brave? How could they stand in the face of hate and be as defiant and determined? She gave up trying to figure out the answer and started to leave again when her name was yelled.

She couldn't find the person who said it. It was difficult to make out how the voice even sounded because of the crowd's chorus. Her eyes went everywhere to find the person as they continued to shout for her. She turned this way and that way. Excused herself through large groups to find who it was. And then she saw him: Crane, pushing and shoving through throngs of people to get to her. What was he doing here? Did he need air, too? Slightly out of breath, he stood in front of her and grabbed her hands. It made her stomach flop and her heart thrash. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching them. Most people weren't paying attention. Those who were smiled at them or gave them thumbs up. It eased her fear just a little.

Questions flew on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't get them out.

"I thought about what you said over the phone, and I was en-route to your apartment when I spotted you. You were right, Abbie. We're either in this together or we're not. There is no in-between." He glanced around. "Even in this moment, each individual is fighting for togetherness and equality. I've realized what I want to fight for, too, what I truly believe in: love." His fingers swept across her cheek, her lips, her nose. "It knows no bounds. It's like the story your mother told you: the one about the strings, how their balloons are so full of love, and how one shouldn't release that string."

She played with his fingers. "What are you saying, Crane?"

"I will fight for us. I'll fight for you, Grace Abigail Mills. That is if you'll still have me. I love you."

She believed him and observed the people around them who risked their lives to be here. They stood in the face of oppression. Fearlessly. They reminded her of Stella and May, how they probably would have joined in, too. She felt a drumming, a boldness in her breastbone that landed in the heels of her feet.

"I love you, too, Ichabod Crane." She kissed him.

The two caught up with Eric and Sarah and stuck with them during the protest. They gripped hands and held up signs, too. Eric filled them in. The N.A.A.C.P organized this march. People rallied for voting rights as well as equal access to education, housing, and transportation. They demanded an end to lynching black bodies and the KKK. They wanted liberation and justice.

Soon enough, the police signaled each other and slowly closed in on the crowd. An officer yelled into a megaphone. Each citizen had approximately five minutes to disperse and return home. But the citizens resisted and shouted as loud as the policeman. Officers geared up with masks, full-body shields, tear gas grenades. They swung their batons to back people away, but they pushed back. And then chaos descended. The police flung their grenades into clusters of protestors. Tear gas scalded eyes and choked throats and nostrils. Policemen struck civilians with their batons. A woman gripped her bleeding forehead while a man held his blackened eye. Screaming and crying bounced across the park.

Abbie was frightened. Television was one thing but reality was another. She froze and could only watch as the police brutally beat and threatened innocent people. Crane said something to her about leaving and gently tugged her elbow. Gunshots blared. Ten of them. Some people quickly ducked and crawled through the grass while others were shot in the arm or in the leg.

She even saw one person, a man, laying on the ground from a bullet. He clutched his chest and struggled for breath. No one helped him. No one really could. And for a moment, she saw her father laying in his place. Helpless. Scared for his family. She wondered if he had a wife and children. Crane continued to urge her to leave the area. Eric and Sarah assisted those with bruises and scars and received some themselves for interfering with the police. Abbie wasn't about to dessert anyone, so she released herself from Crane and ran toward the man.

As she removed a part of his coat and compressed the wound with her hands, she told him everything would be okay. Then asked for his name. Mark.

"You're going to be fine. Okay, Mark? I'm going to get you help."

Crane joined her and placed his hands on top of hers. She quickly met his eyes.

"We're in this together," he said.

She nodded and put one of her hands over his. They turned their attention toward Mark as they yelled for help. By the time Eric and Sarah rushed over with medics from the ambulance, Mark had died. They carried him off into the truck. Neither her nor Crane could speak as the protestors and the police dwindled. Her body felt immobile.

Sarah asked her if she was okay. She said yes and slowly came to her senses again. The park was near empty, and the four of them stepped on the trolley with other sore protestors, who wished them a safe trip home. They travelled to Abbie's. She refused to let Eric and Sarah walk back to campus in the state they were in. Plus, her place was closer. They'd stay the night.

"I know some people who can loan you two some cloths and stitch you up," she said.

They were too tired to nod.

* * *

"Have mercy, sugar." Mrs. Ann shook her head when she opened the door to the four of them.

She quickly ushered them in and took care of Eric and Sarah; Abbie and Crane washed the blood off their hands in the bathroom. Mr. Sam found them a change of clothes, but Abbie decided to change when she got home. Then he put on a kettle. They explained the afternoon over cups of tea.

"I don't give tongue lashings often, but the four of you were foolish for joining that protest," Mrs. Ann said. "Then you stayed to help other people. And you each have partners who are white. Do you have any idea what could have happened to y'all? This could have been far worse. We all know what's happening down South. You know some protestors don't make it home. My niece wasn't protesting, but she had an encounter with the police and…." She covered her mouth as tears fell off her cheeks.

Abbie took her hand. She didn't mean to upset her, let alone bring up feelings about Stella. Mrs. Ann squeezed her hand; Mr. Sam gave her a tissue.

"I'm just relieved the four of you made it home safe. It can be very dangerous standing up to the cops. I don't want no harm to come to you babies, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," they said.

Mrs. Ann wiped her face, said, "Now, drink up."

They nodded and sipped in silence until Mr. Sam lightened the mood. He told them about the time he burned fried steak and how Mrs. Ann gave him a tongue lashing he wouldn't forget. Their wounds didn't hurt as much when they laughed.

* * *

Abbie knew Jenny would give her an earful if she was home, so she prepared herself. She also warned Eric and Sarah, but they didn't seem too bothered.

"We're used to opposition," Sarah said. "We'll be fine."

She nodded as Crane grabbed her hand. She unlocked the door; Jenny was pacing in the living room.

"Abbie, did you see the protest on—?" She froze when she saw Crane and her extra two guests.

"Really? We're doing this again _? Again,_ Abbie? Look at you. And Eric? What the hell, man?"

"Jenny, I'll explain everything, but they need a place to stay for tonight. Their campus is too far. We're closer."

"What about that lady you see so much? Can't they stay with them?"

"Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam have already done more than enough for us. They're staying here, Jenny."

"Fine." She went to her room and slammed her door.

Abbie was embarrassed about her sister's behavior and began to make apologies for her when Eric stopped her.

"You don't have to apologize. We understand. Some of our friends reacted the same way."

Sarah nodded. "My family won't even speak to me anymore, so I know how you feel, Abbie. Thank you for letting us stay in your home."

"You two are welcome here anytime. And you both can take my room. Crane and I will bunk in the living room."

"We couldn't—"

"I insist."

They didn't argue with her anymore and waited in the living room. After Abbie and Crane changed the bedding, Crane gently closed the door. He held his arms open for her. She wouldn't let him comfort her at Mrs. Ann's because she needed a moment to digest everything, but now she didn't withhold herself from him. She cried in his chest.

What happened this afternoon shook her; she's rattled, but he's here. By her side. And that gave her some security.

He kissed her forehead. "Today was very unfortunate."

Words left her, so Crane held her tighter. She prayed Mark's family would be okay, if he had any.

"I love you," he said into her hair.

"I love you, too."

After a while, Abbie gathered herself and changed her clothes, too. Then she told Eric and Sarah the bed was ready for them if they wanted a nap. The couple thanked Abbie and shut themselves in her room for the rest of the afternoon. She knew they were relieved to have some peace. Her and Crane retrieved some comforters and extra pillows from the laundry room and created a pallet on the floor. She pulled him in the kitchen for a snack.

"I missed you," she said, as they stood in front of the fridge.

"I missed you, too."

"Are you sure about this? Are you positive?"

"I am very certain about us, Abbie. I want to build a life with you. It doesn't matter what I have to risk, so long as I have you by my side."

She was about to kiss him when she heard a bedroom door open. Jenny came into the kitchen and was about to turn around until Abbie called her.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Stop avoiding me. We have to talk at some point."

Jenny sighed.

Crane cleared his throat. "I shall excuse myself. I will visit Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam for a spell." He kissed Abbie's cheek before exiting.

Abbie sat at the table; Jenny reluctantly joined her.

"It was hectic out there," Abbie said. "It feels like it's been a long day, even though it's still in the afternoon. There were a lot of people. I wasn't even trying to get mixed up in a protest. I only went out for some air. Then I saw Crane and we caught up with Eric and Sarah. You can put the pieces together from there."

She missed Jenny, and she really wanted them to get along again.

"Why are you still hung up over him?"

"Because I love him. It's that simple. I love him."

"I can't believe you."

"Me? I can't believe you've been acting this way. You're supposed to be my sister. And lately it doesn't feel like I have one."

"I'm sorry I haven't been the sister you need me to be. But I can't look at your two without thinking of our parents and about what happened to me. I…" Jenny began to cry.

And Abbie cried, too. Her parents' death still scarred her. She saw them die again. Her dad in the street. The blood pouring from his chest. Mama crying and screaming for help and then instant loss. Mama in the bathroom, with a slit wrist. Blood in the tub. And there's Jenny. With bruises she saw and couldn't see. It was enough to make Abbie go crazy, enough to make her hate just about every white person there was, except Corbin and Joe. They weren't like most white people. Neither was Crane. He cared about who she was, about her interests, and about her family. He treated her with respect, like a person. And that's why she fell for him.

"I don't want to lose you, Abbie. I've lost my parents. I've lost a part of myself." She sniffed and wiped her face. "I don't want anything to happen to you. It scares me that you're with him. A lot."

Abbie stood up and pulled Jenny into a hug. They cried into each other's shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said while she cleaned her face. "I miss Mama and Dad more than anything, and I wish I could have traded places with you that night. I should've protected you. And I didn't. I have to learn how to forgive myself for that. And with Crane, I know what we're up against. We'll be careful. I promise."

"I want you to be happy. You weren't the same after he left. I'm so sorry for getting between you two. I just wanted to protect you. That's all. I hope you can forgive me."

Abbie laid her forehead against Jenny's. "I do forgive you."

"And I don't blame you, you know? That night wasn't your fault. I was never mad at you. I told you to go home because I didn't want them to harm you either. You don't have to feel guilty."

She nodded, and they took their seats again. Abbie decided to talk about something else.

"You happy to be back at the bakery?"

Jenny smiled. "Yeah. I miss being in a bigger kitchen and having space for things."

"How's the old man?"

"He's good. Waiting for you to come by again. He misses you, you know?"

"I'll have to drop by next weekend or something. How's Joe doing?"

"Good..." She blushed.

Abbie doesn't recall ever seeing her sister so bashful.

"Jenny… Are you…?" She put it together. "What the hell, Jenny? Seriously? After all the grief you've given me about Crane, you've been keeping this from me. Wow, sis. Wow."

She covered her face. "I know. I know. I'm a fucking hypocrite, and you deserve to be mad at me all you want. Joe is… He's really sweet. Every day he leaves me little notes while I'm on my lunch break. I'm normally at the park or a nearby coffeehouse during that time. When I come back, I'll find messages in random places: on a shelf, under a pan, in an empty mixing bowl. They're corny, but nice. He hopes my day goes well or that I'm enjoying the snow or something like that. I've written back."

It was always obvious to Abbie that Joe had a crush on Jenny, even when they were younger. Of course, he didn't make a move on her. It surprised Abbie that he's even doing this. She's even more so surprised that Jenny has responded to him.

"I don't fucking believe you right now." She laughed in disbelief. "How long has this been happening?"

"Just last week."

Abbie shook her head, grinning. "Wow. I mean I knew he liked you, but I didn't think he'd be this brave."

"Same here." She paused and the smile left her. "I think I could have loved him. Maybe if so many screwed up things hadn't happened to me or to our parents. And maybe if the world was different, I think we could've had something nice. But…"

She wanted to cry for her sister, for everything she endured and for the love she wouldn't know. She still had hope for them. Joe's a great match for her.

"Maybe one day," Abbie said.

"Maybe."

And then Abbie told her about the strings.

* * *

As Jenny prepared chili and cornbread for all of them, Abbie went to get Crane. She also invited Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam over. They found room around the table somehow. After Jenny fixed everyone's plate, she clinked her glass. The chatter quieted.

"I need to apologize for my behavior earlier. I'm sorry for being rude to you, Eric and Sarah. You two didn't deserve that. Crane, I'm sorry for giving you shit about being with my sister. I just want to protect her, but I know you'll take care of her. And if you don't, I'll hunt you down. And Abbie, I'm especially sorry to you for not being there. You needed my support, and I should've been the sister you needed."

Eric and Sarah waved her off, but thanked her none the less.

"We really appreciate that," Eric said.

"I understood your perspective, Ms. Jenny. Thank you for your apology. I'm glad that you and your sister are on good terms. You have my word that I will guard her with my life."

Abbie gave her a hug. She was happy to have her sister back. They needed to have this conversation. She was glad they did so without yelling. It felt nice to have Jenny on her side.

For the rest of the evening, Abbie and Jenny entertained their guests with funny childhood stories and games well until midnight. After Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam left, after Eric and Sarah returned to Abbie's room, and after Jenny returned to hers, Abbie was left alone with Crane. They laid on the pallet, arm in arm.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too."

As he kissed her, she knew they would withstand.


	21. Epilogue

As Abbie and Crane enjoyed their cinnamon rolls and thick bacon, they heard their front door being slung open.

"I'm home!"

Crane shook his head, smiling. "I don't know why Nadia refuses to ring the doorbell or knock. She's likely to give us a heart attack if she keeps doing that."

Abbie giggled. "You should be used to it by now, old man."

"Not hardly."

She shook her head. "We're in the kitchen!"

Each time she saw Nadia, she looked more and more like Crane. Nadia's hair was curly like Abbie's but brown like Crane's. She wore her light brown eyes and plump mouth while her delicate height and cream skin resembled his.

"Hello, my lovely daughter." Crane kissed her on her forehead.

"Morning, dad. Morning, mama." She pecked Abbie on the cheek before she plopped down at the table to fix herself a plate.

Abbie tapped Nadia's fingers. "Hands."

She grinned and quickly went to go wash her hands in the kitchen sink. She held her palms out for her parents to see. "Better?"

Crane nodded. "At your age, I think you'd know how to wash-up for before a meal. We've taught you better than this."

As she took her seat, Nadia stuck out her tongue. "I guess I wasn't really paying attention, dad." She stole a piece of bacon off his plate.

Crane looked offended while Abbie just laughed. Nadia was something else. She also inherited Abbie's knack for swiping bits of food off a person's plate.

"How are my parents?"

"We're good. Happy to relax. How was work at the police station?"

"Good. I'm tired. Glad to be off my shift. I kicked ass today, I'll admit."

"Language," Crane said, as he added more bacon to his plate.

"Sorry." Nadia grinned.

"Your father and his propriety."

"Can't see how you married the old man. He can be so uptight."

Abbie laughed again while Crane grumbled over his plate.

"You should have seen him when you were born. He wouldn't even let you get on the swings at the playground."

"The swings, dad? Really?"

"Your mother isn't exaggerating."

Nadia was conceived in the schoolroom in '82; she's wild and 36 now. They wanted a child a year after they married at the pale courthouse but waited before they had one. They felt it was safer that way.

Their lives were a lot calmer now than when they were younger. People treated them horribly as a couple in those days. They were spit on, threatened, followed, and even physically assaulted at one point. But they remained together despite it. They took care to go to places they were mostly welcome and avoided going out at night. But even when they were cautious, things still happened. They withstood and are still withstanding.

When Nadia was born, they were worried about how she'd be perceived and how kids would treat her. Some days, she came home crying because children teased her about her appearance and her parents, but Abbie and Crane comforted her as best they could. Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam helped to raise Nadia. They were her godparents, and she called Corbin Uncle C. Mrs. Ann and Mr. Sam passed a few years ago, along with Corbin, but they were still with them in spirit. Photos of them in the living room served as reminders of that.

As for Eric and Sarah, they were still around. Abbie and Crane met them for weekly lunch. Eric created his own accounting firm while Sarah wrote books for a living.

The doorbell chimed again, and Nadia ran the door. She came back in the kitchen with Jenny and Joe. Their son, Simon, was with them. They said their hellos and helped themselves to breakfast, too.

Jenny and Joe finally decided to marry a couple of years after Abbie and Crane. Abbie was happy for her sister and glad she let love in. Nadia and Simon were a handful together; they were such troublemakers, but they always defended and protected the other. They were like brother and sister. Jenny opened her own restaurant, which Joe helped her manage. Eric took care of their finances.

Abbie saved enough to officially purchase the entire two-story school building her and Crane used to meet in. She made it into a women's center, a non-profit. She taught girls and their mothers self-defense for free. It also doubled as a shelter if any woman and her children needed a place to stay.

Mrs. Ann bandaged wounds and cuts as the nurse on the weekends. Mr. Sam entertained everyone and ensured they had everything they needed. Jenny stuffed women silly with her meatloafs and pies. Crane designed a library that included an impressive women's section with an array of literature and reference materials. Corbin and Joe often donated sweets to the center for women to take home for birthdays or just because; they also spread the word about her center and helped her get more funding. Abbie never became a cop, but she did help the women in her community like she's always wanted to do. The women's center still thrived. With the proper help in place, Abbie could take her hands off it and rest during the week. She only showed up on weekends, special occasions, and emergencies.

"Hey, mom, dad, I want to hear a story," Nadia said.

"Which one?" Crane said.

"The one where you two met. Tell me about the strings."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "You've heard this one a thousand times."

"You even know it by heart," Simon said.

Joe defended her. "It never gets old in my opinion. I wouldn't mind hearing it again."

Jenny and Simon groaned because they knew they'd have to sit through the story for the 100th time. But they always ended up listening to it anyway and were near tears when it was over.

"Crane?" Abbe said.

She never minded retelling their past.

"Please, dad? It's my favorite one."

Crane took Abbie's hand and began to tell their story.

As Abbie gazed at her family, she thought about how far they've come. This wouldn't have been possible years ago, but it felt right. This was her life, and she was glad she met Crane and glad that he crossed the line.


End file.
